


A Loophole in Limbo

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Bad News, Biting, Blindness, Blood, Degenerative Myopia, Denial, Fear, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Health Issues, M/M, Miscommunication, Mortality, Oral Sex, blind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's greatest fears are given voice and Clint comes to the realization of exactly how twisted up Loki's mind is.  Can our archer give the demigod what he needs most?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Loophole in Limbo

He didn’t mean to, but Clint arrived home much later than he had told Loki he would.  The sky was darkening and the city was beginning to come alive under the night lights when he finally unlocked the door of the apartment they shared.  When he stepped inside, he was disappointed and yet unsurprised to see the living room was empty, with no sign of the dark god.

It was just as well, he supposed.  If Loki was out, that would give Clint just that much more time to come to terms with what he had to tell him.  He set his keys on the table as he made his way to the couch, his tread heavier, more subdued than it had been in a long time.

It wasn’t like this was a new development, he told himself.  He’d known something was wrong for a while; he just never wanted to acknowledge it until now.  It had grown far beyond a mere annoyance, until even Clint’s own stubborn nature had yielded to common sense. 

Looking down at the paper in his hand, Clint sighed and tried to resolve himself to the fact that he was quickly outliving his usefulness.

After all, what good was a blind sniper?

 

When the appointed time for Clint’s arrival home had come and gone, Loki had steeled his spine, refusing to give in to the worry that flooded his mind whenever the archer was late.  He knew that Clint’s occupation was unlike others.  That he frequently kept odd hours, and rarely arrived home when he said he would.  

Loki had developed a ritual in order to combat the streak of panic that settled into his gut whenever Clint was late.  Once the 30 minute mark had passed, the god would leave the apartment and walk aimlessly through the large park nearby, studiously and unconsciously avoiding the area where he and Thor had made their departure a year earlier.

It was one of the few green areas in the city, and while it was small and hemmed in on all sides by buildings, it still held a measure of peace for the dark god.  It reminded him in some ways of the wooded hills that surrounded Asgard, and he would let his mind wander as he walked.  Somehow, it always managed to calm him, and he would return to the apartment far more relaxed than when he had left.  And usually Clint would be there, eagerly awaiting his return.

Tonight was no different, except that the welcoming smile the god had been expecting was not in evidence.  

The archer sat slumped on the couch, his face buried in his hands and the line of his shoulders tense.  Loki froze just inside the door, his eyes darting over the scene, noting a crumpled sheet of paper on the bare coffee-table before Clint, all other items having been swept to the floor.

"What has happened," Loki asked softly, fighting to contain the panic in his tone.

 

Clint huffed a breath, but didn’t lift his head.  It was his luck that Loki would show up just then, before he could clean up his mess.  He was just grateful he hadn’t been there when the anger had finally spilled over… along with everything on the god damn coffee table.

“Nothing  _happened_ ,” Clint said, sliding his fingers through his hair and blinking down at the patch of carpet between his feet.  A sneer twisted his face as the floor appeared to shift and ripple.

He heard Loki’s tentative footsteps as he drew nearer and swallowed the lump forming in his throat.  

“Something troubles you,” Loki amended, his voice holding a touch of hesitance just behind the concern.

Suddenly, there was the feeling of helpless tears prickling just behind Clint’s eyes, and he blinked them back before Loki could see them.  “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, his voice thick.  He cleared his throat and scrubbed at his face, hoping to mask the lost cast to his eyes before he turned to look at him.  “Had my physical evaluation today.  Couple weeks early, but who’s really keeping track, right?”

Loki watched him warily, and gave him a skeptical tilt of the head that told him his attempt at flippancy was not believed.  “What is this ‘evaluation?’” he asked.

“Just a thing they make me do every few months to make sure I’m not falling apart,” Clint told him, and even though his words were unaffected, there was no hiding the wavering cast of his gaze.  “I… got some bad news, is all.”

The panic that bloomed across Loki’s face made Clint wince and drop his eyes back to the floor.

“What news?”  Loki’s voice was tight and tremulous.

Clint looked over at him once again, his mouth opened to speak, but he shut it again when he saw the plain fear in Loki’s eyes.  His face crumpled, and he felt the ache rising in his throat that he’d been fighting ever since he’d realized he was going to have to tell him this.

“You know, I’m not a kid anymore,” he said.  “And I’ve apparently got this… thing… I dunno, I guess it runs in the family.  Doc said…”  He had to pause and swallow against the lump in his throat.  “Doc said I’m losing my eyesight.  And there’s not much they can do about it.  This time next year, I’ll probably be mostly blind.”

 

“No,” Loki breathed, sinking to his knees before the coffee table.  He reached out and took the crumpled paper, smoothing it carefully and quickly reading the words printed upon it.  Many of the terms contained within were unfamiliar, but the overall tone was grim and an ache rose in his throat.  A thread of panic wound tight around Loki’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe, and he fought to contain the rising tide of emotions.  Clint was visibly upset by this news, and it would not do to give him anything further to worry over. 

But internally, the god was screaming. 

A death knell tolled in his ears.  The weakness and infirmity that would eventually steal his Hawk from his side was making itself known, and if his vision could be taken, what next would fall?

That vicious little voice in Loki’s head prodded,  _‘Soon he will be dust, and you left with naught but a cold, stone slab to mark he ever lived.  And all the empty days of eternity laid out before you, to remind you of what you’ve lost.’_

 _‘Be silent,’_ Loki hissed in his mind.

 _‘I will obey for now, Liesmith.  But there will come a day when I am your only company,_ ’ and the voice retreated with a small, delighted chuckle. 

Loki steeled himself for the sight of his distraught archer and lifted his gaze to Clint’s face.  “There must be a way to remedy this,” he stated firmly.  “Some…procedure.  Perhaps Stark or Banner might have an answer?”

The guarded hope in Loki’s eyes wasn’t hiding the frightened panic; not from Clint, not when he was this close.  The god more than likely felt he was hiding it, but Clint knew him well enough that he didn’t  _need_  eyes to tell he was as shaken by the news as Clint was himself.  That thought just made the ache even worse.

He knew Loki feared losing him, and he also knew that there was no avoiding that inevitable moment.  It pained him, as well, to think that he would one day have to leave Loki all alone, and in a small, dark corner of his mind, Clint hated himself for allowing this to grow between them, to give Loki something to lose.

He tried to keep all of that from showing on his face as he lifted his eyes to meet the kneeling god’s.  His face betrayed the helplessness he felt as he shook his head.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” he muttered.  “It’s not an easy fix.”

Loki leaned closer, bracing his hands against the archer’s knees as he turned pleading eyes to him.  “There must be  _something_.  If it is done, it can be _un_ done.”

Clint just blinked down at him, and felt the sting of tears threatening once again.  Seeing Loki so scared and desperate caused a pain within his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time.  Not since he’d been small, and the only person to ever show concern for him was his brother.  It was a strange feeling, and Clint wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it.

“It’s not… like that, Loki,” he tried to explain.  “It was always gonna happen.  It’s not something they can just take out of me.  Even if they could, it would just come back again.  I’d get a few more miles, but then I’d end up right back at the beginning.”

He watched as Loki took in his words, and the hope began to fade from his eyes.  And he hated himself a little bit more with each word.

 

Loki felt as though his heart were breaking as he contemplated what life would be like for Clint should he lose his vision.  

When they had first begun, even before the truth of their feelings had been made known, Clint had listed his skill at archery as one of the only things that brought him joy.  The thought of his Hawk forever hooded; of losing the main thing that he took pride in?  It brought a hot bloom of anger up in the god’s chest and he shook his head.

"No,” he stated firmly.  "This is unacceptable.  If it cannot be fixed, then perhaps it can be delayed?  Is there nothing that might slow the progression of this…thing?"

The smile Clint shone Loki’s way was tempered in sadness.  “‘Fraid not, Princess," he said softly as he reached out to stroke his fingers through the god’s hair.  "I’ve got a time bomb in my head and the countdown has already started."

The expression of horror that twisted Loki’s face at Clint’s choice of words caused the archer to curse himself under his breath.  It seemed that his lack of a filter had bit him in the ass yet again.  And even worse, in the process he’d managed to fan the flames of Loki’s panic all the higher.

The god’s hands slipped from Clint’s knees to fall limply into his own lap, and that dark head bowed as a wave of despair crashed down over him. “So, there is  _nothing_ to be done," Loki whispered, seemingly to himself.  "No hope of a reprieve?  I must stand helpless by your side and simply watch as the light in your gaze dies?"

Clint winced, both at the hollow tone of Loki’s voice and the phrasing of his words.  It was obvious that the god was speaking of more than Clint’s failing vision.  His mind was leading him down the path of Clint’s mortality again, and they both knew where that particular road ended.

"Hey," Clint said softly, ducking his head and trying to catch the god’s eye.   “Loki?  Look at me.  Please?" 

Loki hesitantly raised his head, peering up at Clint through the curtain of hair that tumbled around his face.  The archer was relieved to see that while his eyes were glistening, no tears had been shed yet.

"It’s going to be okay," Clint reassured him, trying to pour every bit of conviction he could into his tone.  "Really.  It is."

Loki uttered a thin, high laugh that edged on hysteria before answering flatly, “It most certainly is  _NOT_."

 

Clint had to agree, if only in his own mind.  Nothing about this situation was okay, and it was only going to get worse.

He remembered the grim look in the doctor’s eyes as he gave him the news; degenerative myopia, likely hereditary, nearly impossible to treat unless under the most ideal circumstances.  Clint didn’t have the heart to tell Loki that there _was_  a way to halt the progression of the disease, but it required a sacrifice of someone who had no reason to do so.  Even if Clint knew where his brother was, there was no way he could convince him to help.

No, it would be better to let Loki’s hope die here and now than to draw it out, painfully, hopelessly, with the possibility of a cure they could never hope to find.

Clint carded his hand through Loki’s hair, stroking gently against his scalp.  Strange that he should be the one to soothe the god when  _he_  was the one going blind.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now,” he said as he gripped the nape of Loki’s neck and squeezed.  “We’ll just have to  _make_  it okay.  I know what you’re thinking, Loki, it’s all over your face.  You don’t wanna hear this, but… we both knew how this was gonna end.”

 

And then those tears were spilling over as Loki crumbled. 

“No,” he pleaded.  “It is far too soon.  W-we’ve barely had any time, and I’ll not…I will NOT accept that.”  The god’s teeth bared in a feral snarl, utterly mismatched with the torment in his eyes, tears tracking silently down drawn cheeks.  “I refuse this.  I refuse to lose you; to even think of losing you!  I am yours, as you are mine!  Forever!  That is what was promised!”

Clint stared at his broken god, his heart in his throat as he watched Loki slowly fall apart.  He’d known this conversation wasn’t going to go well, but he had vastly underestimated the intensity of Loki’s reaction.  It was heartbreaking and more than a little frightening to see the terrified anger the god was struggling to contain.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Clint murmured.  “But ‘forever’ means something a little different to someone like me.  You’re immortal, and I’m…not.  It sucks, and it hurts, but there’s not a goddamned thing we can do to change it.  In my world, forever means until death…and that’s all I can promise.”

Loki went utterly still at Clint’s words, his eyes flashing with a depth of pain that the archer could feel as a weight upon him.  “Unacceptable,” he hissed and then that poison green gaze turned inward. 

The god’s mind raced, frantically searching for an answer.  He cursed himself a fool for shunning the healing arts; focusing instead on illusion and destruction magic.  _‘Had I but known,’_  he thought.   _‘And none that have the gift would give me such a boon.  I have burned too many bridges; played too many tricks and stolen too much for any to…’_

Loki gave a small gasp, his eyes snapping to Clint’s face as a stunned look came over his face.  “I may have an answer to this,” he said carefully.

 

Clint knew that look, he’d seen it countless times through tainted eyes.  Loki may be adept at keeping his true thoughts from reflecting on his face, but when he was desperate and backed into a corner, even the most stoic facade could crumble.  He was plotting something, and as much as Clint knew Loki had changed, he also knew that some things would always remain the same.

The god could be ruthless when he felt he may lose something precious to him.  That much he had learned from what Loki himself had told him, and also what he had gleaned from Thor’s retelling of Loki’s fall from Asgard. 

He still didn’t know why Loki held him in such high regard; why the god had put him above all else.  But he knew that if something ever threatened to separate them, he would do everything in his power to keep that from happening.  Clint knew firsthand just how much power Loki could wield, even without the Tesseract.  There was a reason Fury was so nervous about his continued presence, and it was not undeserved in the least.

“Loki,” Clint began, his voice strained.  “It’s not that easy.  It doesn’t have an _answer_ , it just  _is_.  Don’t… make this harder than it has to be.  I don’t want you to drive yourself crazy over this.”

But it was too late for that, Clint could see the wheels turning behind those sharp, focused green eyes, and he knew it was a wasted effort.

 

"Oh, but it  _does_  have an answer, my Hawk.  It does indeed," Loki murmured.  "I should have thought of this from the very first."

A feeling of dread began to rise in Clint’s belly and coiled tightly around his heart. “What are you thinking," he asked slowly.  "Magic?  I know Odin stripped you of most of that before you came here, and I don’t want you doing anything that’s going to set off alarm bells at SHIELD."  The thought of Fury’s threats to send Loki away were never far from the archer’s mind, and he’d be damned if he’d allow the god to doom himself by attempting to save his vision.  

That wasn’t even an option as far as Clint was concerned.

"No," Loki answered.  "Nothing quite so mundane as magic; although that would be an option had I the full measure of my powers.  And time to study the knowledge I am sadly lacking."

"Then what," Clint demanded, his panic slowly getting the better of him.  

"It is nothing that would concern SHIELD, so calm yourself," Loki soothed, bringing his hands once more to Clint’s knees.  The god turned his face up to meet his Hawk’s gaze, his own holding a small measure of hope.  

"There is an orchard in Asgard," he began hesitantly.  "Within its’ walls grow the very thing we need.  A golden apple that will cure all that ails you, while returning you to the vitality of youth."  Loki paused momentarily, and when he continued, a pleading tone had crept into his voice.  "You need never worry again about your vision, or any other ailment once you eat of this fruit, Clint.  It is the answer to all that plagues us."

Clint was quiet for a long moment, studying the guarded expression in Loki’s eyes.  "What’s the catch," he finally asked.  "This seems just a little too good to be true; and a  _lot_  too easy, so there has to be a catch."

Loki’s dropped his gaze to the floor, and the god’s inability to meet his eyes rattled the archer.

"What aren’t you telling me," he ground out, half afraid to hear the answer to his question.

"There are some…side effects," Loki answered in a small, halting voice.

"Such as?"

"To eat of Idunn’s apples will banish all ailments and return you to youth, just as I promised."  Loki huffed a deep sigh before quietly finishing, “But…it will also render you immortal."

 

Clint was silent for several long moments as he let Loki’s words fully sink in.  When they did, he surprised even himself with the sudden, unexpected anger those words called up.

“ _Side effects?_ ” he snarled.  “Is that what you call a fucking  _side effect?_   I think living for fucking ever is a bit more than a side effect, Loki.”

He stood to his feet, unable to take this sitting down, he felt the need to move, to put some distance between them.  His anger was too sharp and sudden and unpredictable right now for him to feel safe letting Loki be that close to him.

The sad confusion in Loki’s eyes was too painful for him to want to see that close, anyway.

“Clint, please,” he began, the desperation in his voice climbing ever higher.  “If I could-“

“Don’t,” Clint bit out, rough as gravel.  “I can’t believe you’d—… no, wait, yes I can.”  He whirled around to face him, and the glare he sent the still-kneeling god caused him to rock back on his knees as if he’d been struck.  “You really would do that to me, wouldn’t you?”

It was clear that Loki had no idea why his offer had been met with such sudden and violent anger, and that just made Clint feel guilt on top of his rage.  It was a sickening mixture.  He swallowed it down anyway, because he couldn’t bring himself to hurl it back.  Because he  _knew_  Loki had no clue why he was angry, why he felt so betrayed, and why that feeling of inadequacy, of not being  _enough_ that he’d been battling from the very beginning, was only growing.

“You knew right from the start that I’m not like you,” he said, and his throat was already beginning to ache, both with the hurt he could feel rising, and his efforts not to show Loki exactly how close he’d come to screaming those words.  “Before any of  _this_ , you knew I was mortal.  I asked you why you wanted to stay with someone like me, and you told me you loved me.  And I thought that was enough.  Because you knew I would leave some day,  _but you loved me anyway_.  And now this…”

He had to stop himself there, before he said anything else he knew he would regret later.  He could see what his words were doing, he wasn’t blind  _yet_.

 

Loki’s shocked expression turned to one of horror at Clint’s final outburst.  "My love for you  _is_  enough," he insisted.  " _You_  are enough!  And I will love you the same as I always have no matter the outcome of all this!"  

The god turned wide, wounded eyes up at the seething archer.  "I-I do not seek to change you because I find you lacking, Clint," he whispered.  "No, this is borne from my greedy wish to always keep you near; to always have you at my side as much as it is my desire to help you keep your vision.  Nothing more.  I swear it."

Clint had to turn his head and look away from that pleading gaze.  The hurt in Loki’s face was too raw for him to take in, and his anger too bright to allow that hurt to sway him.  

He simply didn’t know what to think anymore.

Those treacherous tears spilled over once again as Clint turned his face away, refusing to meet the god’s eyes.  Loki’s breath hitched in his throat and he sagged back against the couch, the ache in his chest unbearable.

“ _Please_ , Clint," he said, biting back the sob that threatened to break loose and roughen his voice.  "Please.  Doubt my honor or my intentions; doubt my very character, if you must.  But do  _not_  doubt my love for you.  It is the truest thing I have ever known…and I never want it to end.  Can you begrudge me that?  Can you not understand that I would do anything…- _anything_ -…in my power to keep safe that which is the most important to me?"

Still Clint held his silence, his steely gaze fixed on the far corner of the room, giving no sign that he even heard Loki’s pleas.  The tense set of the archer’s mouth and his balled fists drove the last bit of hope from the god’s heart and he bowed his head in defeat.

"Forgive me," Loki murmured.  "I simply cannot bear the thought of eternity without you.  I had hoped that…perhaps you would…" and there the god’s voice broke, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in a vain attempt to muffle the burgeoning sobs.

 

Clint’s first instinct was to soothe Loki’s misery, to tell him he would do whatever the god wished as long as he would stop hurting.  He stifled that urge before it could take root.  He couldn’t afford to give ground, it was too big, too important.  It wasn’t like their other misunderstandings, there was much more at stake than there had ever been before. 

This was Clint’s life they were deciding on, and he’d be damned if he let Loki’s tears sway him, one way or the other.

“Keep me safe?” he asked, still not turning to look at the crumbling god.  “From what?  Dying?  I’m  _mortal,_  Loki, I was  _meant_  to die.  You can’t keep me safe from that, because there’s no such thing.”

The sound that wrenched from Loki’s throat caused Clint to finally turn his stolid gaze, and what he saw there was nearly enough to grind his resolve to dust.  His damaged god was breaking right before his eyes, and it was all his doing.  The guilt rose up to choke him, cutting of his air — and the poisonous words he was flinging like tiny, razor-sharp arrows directly into the softest part of Loki’s heart.

The sight was too much, and paired with the hitching sobs he was trying so hard to keep contained, it was a combination he couldn’t hope to withstand.  He stepped forward and crouched before him, bringing them both to the same level, even if it was the lowest one.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling Loki against him even as he tensed and shook in his embrace.  “I don’t mean to hurt you.  I  _never_  mean to hurt you.  Still do.”  He closed his eyes against the top of Loki’s bowed head and tightened his arms around him. 

“I only wish to keep you with me,” Loki murmured.

“I know,” Clint replied.   _Not sure why, look what I keep doing to you,_  he finished in his own mind.

 

Loki trembled within the circle of Clint’s arms, stunned by the vehement accusation hurled by his archer.  He had expected some resistance to the idea of using Idunn’s apples, but what had occurred went far and beyond even his deepest fears. 

And that self destructive voice in his head was screaming out its’ glee at Loki’s bitter disappointment.

 _‘He does not_ ** _want_** _you,’_  it chortled.   _‘The thought of spending eternity at your side sickens him.  He seeks to escape you fully in death, as he knows he’ll never be free of you in life.’_

“No,” Loki moaned aloud, feeling Clint’s arms tightening around him in response to his pitiful denial.

 _‘Then why would he refuse?  So simple; a bite of fruit and all infirmity gone and death vanquished,’_  the voice whispered slyly.   _‘Why would he not want that which mortals have been seeking for ages?  Eternal youth does not appeal to your little Hawk?  No, Loki.  It is **you** that fails to appeal.’_

“That’s not true,” Loki screamed, twisting free of Clint’s embrace.  “He loves me!  He finally spoke the words and you lie, you lie,  _YOU LIE_!”

Clint felt a stab of panic as the fallen god broke away from him to scramble backward, slamming into the couch.  Loki bent forward then, face hidden behind his ebony veil of hair and allowed the sobs to shake his slender frame.  “Not true,” he gasped.  “None of it; not one word.”

‘ _ **THEN ASK HIM WHY,’**_  the voice roared, and Loki’s hands rose to his ears in a futile attempt to block the echoing malice in his own head.   _‘Ask him…though I wager you will be displeased with the answer…’_

The god slowly raised his head and fixed Clint with a haunted stare.  “Why,” he whispered, his tone still and measured.  “Why would you not wish to stay with me for all time?  I-is eternity with me such a painful thought to you?”  Loki hitched in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing, a rising note of hysteria in his voice.  “Do you want shed of me so badly that you would rather choose  _death_  over being together always?!”

 

At first, Clint thought Loki’s words were directed at him, and he felt a sudden, sick panic at his frantic denials.  It soon became clear that there was a battle raging inside his head and it had finally spilled out where he could witness it.  Clint had known for some time that Loki had certain… issues.  It would have been odd if he  _hadn’t_ , not with the traumas he’d suffered.  There was something within the god’s mind that actively rejected any kind of peace or show of kindness.  It was centuries — millennia — of self-loathing, and doubt, and fear, all given voice.

Loki’s worst enemy truly was himself.

Clint was used to fighting it; he’d been fighting it from the very beginning, even before he’d been freed of the Tesseract’s hold.  He saw the self-destructive nature of the one he’d been forced to serve and had, on more than one occasion, steered him away from paths that would have led to his demise if he’d allowed them to be followed.  He couldn’t be certain if it was entirely the thrall’s doing, or his own innate need to protect what he’d been charged with protecting, but the result had been the same.

He hadn’t realized just how strong that inner voice was until he saw firsthand the struggle Loki was having now.  It was clear to him now that it wasn’t Loki himself that doubted him, but that black, twisted beast that was still caged within Loki’s own mind.  It sought the god’s downfall with every poisoned breath he took, every beat of his tortured heart.

Clint hated that voice.  He hated what it whispered into his god’s ear, leading him to doubt, telling him he wasn’t good enough, would never be worthy of anything but loathing and contempt and hatred.  If it had a body, Clint would have put an arrow through its throat long ago, but he couldn’t put an end to an enemy that shared the body of the one he loved.

There was only one way to fight that, and Clint had discovered his proficiency with the weapon necessary to do so was sadly lacking. 

Wouldn’t stop him from trying, though.  Never let it be said that Clint Barton wasn’t stubborn.

“No, Loki,” he said.  “I don’t ‘want shed’ of you.  And I’m not  _choosing_  death, because up until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know it was even a  _choice_.”

He let his words sink in before he moved, cautiously, to Loki’s side.  His fingers slid through his hair, pushing the black curtain away from his face so he could meet the eyes of his god with nothing between them.  He didn’t want Loki to hide from him; he wanted him to see exactly how wrong that damn voice in his head really was.

“You gotta know something about me, okay?” he began in a low, soothing voice.  “I’m not good at people.  Never have been.  Every single one of them I was meant to trust ended up leaving, one way or another.  And one way or another, they always made sure I knew it was my fault.”

Loki’s head shook beneath his palm, his eyes holding a frantic denial.  Clint gave him a small, sad smile and stroked his fingers against his scalp.

“I know, you said you wouldn’t do that.  And I know you mean it.  In my head, I know it.”  The smile dropped from his face.  “The rest of me… is a little harder to convince.”

 

"What must I do to prove exactly how much you mean to me," Loki questioned.  "Is my constant hunger for you not enough?  My concern and care and  _love_  not enough?  If given the choice, I would never leave your side; not for one brief moment.  When we are separated, I  _ache_.  I pine for your voice; your touch; the warmth of you curled next to me.  And the only thing that lessens the hurt of being parted, is knowing that you will eventually return."

The god paused, searching Clint’s gaze.  "I do not know if I can withstand that feeling after you are…gone."  Loki’s voice hitched on the last word, struggling not to give in to the tears that still threatened.

A deep breath and a shuddering sigh later, he continued.  "All I want is you, Clint.  Forever.  Until the sky turns to fire and Yggdrasil falls to dust.  I understand mistrust; and the ease at which past deeds can poison us to future events.  But you must believe that I will  _never_  willingly leave you.  I will  _never_  choose a path that you cannot walk."

Clint shook his head, fingers still carding through dark hair.  "Loki," he began.

"No," the god cut in, his voice low and brooking no arguments.  "You have explained your fear of being left behind, and I have refuted that as best I could.  You said you did not know that a choice existed when it came to your…end.  But now you do.  And I must ask again; does the thought of eternity with me hold  _no_  appeal to you?”

The hurt reflected in that poison green gaze was nearly enough to make Clint turn away, not wanting to see exactly how wounded his god was that this question even needed to be asked.  Huffing out a deep sigh, the archer leaned his forehead against Loki’s as he mulled over his answer.

“I have seen the fear in your eyes over your Director’s threats to send me away,” Loki murmured.  “You have said you will do anything in your power to avoid such a thing occurring.  But I am expected to simply stand by and watch you fade into nothing?  To continue on over the millennia with naught but my memories to sustain me?  That…is so unfair, my Hawk.  I could  _save_  you, if you would but let me.”

Clint had to agree; it  _wasn’t_  fair.  Just like it wasn’t fair that Loki was still paying for mistakes he’d made so long ago he’d probably forgotten what they were.  Just like it wasn’t fair that Clint was still on a leash that was steadily growing shorter.  None of this was fair, but they made the best of what they were given.  Clint had thought it was enough, what they had, and he’d done everything he could to make Loki as happy as possible, for as long as possible. 

It was a surprise even to himself how much it hurt to know that it wasn’t enough.  It would  _never_  be enough, and it never would have been.  He would have given everything to make Loki happy, but it seemed the god still wanted something more, something Clint couldn’t have given him even if he’d wanted to.

Loki wanted forever.  Clint didn’t  _have_  forever.

Except, now he could, if what Loki said was true.  If he could somehow gain what Loki was offering, he could give him everything he wanted.

But did  _Clint_  want that? 

The idea of his own mortality was never far from his mind.  He did things on a regular basis that would have killed anyone else ten times over.  It was difficult for anyone to do what he did for a living and  _not_  have the idea of their death in the back of their mind.

Clint was well-versed in the mechanics of death.  He dealt it out often enough.  Yes, mortality was something he knew intimately.  It was part of life, he’d accepted that a long time ago.  Even if his own experience hadn’t taught him that, the finality of his parents’ death certainly had.  It was the long sleep you didn’t wake up from, it was The End on the last page, fade to black, there isn’t any more.

To be given something like what Loki was offering, a way to sidestep that final curtain, it wasn’t something Clint was even remotely prepared to accept.  He’d always looked ahead to his future with a clear idea that someday, perhaps someday  _soon_ , he would come to the end.  To have that path extended into infinity?

It was a terrifying thought.

Loki was waiting for his answer, and the longer he stayed silent, the worse the panic in his eyes grew.  He clung to Clint desperately, as if he was afraid that he would disappear at any moment unless he had Loki there to anchor him. 

“It’s not an easy answer to give,” he finally said into the tense silence.  “I can’t just say yes and then everything is fine.  Loki… do you know what it’s like to be mortal?  Do you know what it’s like to live your life  _knowing_  that you’re meant to die?  When I think about the word  _forever_  I don’t see what you see.  It’s different for me.  And anything else… anything  _more…_ scares me.”

 

"I cannot fathom what it is like to live a mortal’s life," Loki whispered.  "Knowing that you have but a short time to accomplish all you must.  I do have an intimate knowledge of fear, though.  And fear shared is fear halved."  The god searched Clint’s steady gaze, his own eyes holding a frantic light.  "I would be with you every step of the way, my Hawk.  We can overcome anything…- _anything_ -…as long as we are together."

Clint gave that sad, pained smile again, remaining silent in the face of Loki’s words, and the god’s confusion grew.  Why was this such a difficult choice for his archer?  They were good together; sharing a love unlike any Loki had ever known, and he simply could not understand why Clint would not want that to continue.

"Can you not see how difficult this is for me to understand," Loki pleaded.  "Does your love for me not outweigh your fear?  How can you not face the fear of the unknown in exchange for the retention of what we have between us?"  The god paused then, the ache in his throat rising to choke off his words.  

Loki drew in a deep, shuddering breath before finishing in a defeated tone, “I have never loved like this before; never felt for anyone the way I do for you.  I just…I do not want this to end." 

 

It seemed there was no dissuading Loki from this.  It was as he’d said, he would never give up on keeping Clint with him, there was nothing else he wanted beyond that.  The archer’s heart gave a painful thump at the realization that he was the most important thing in Loki’s life.  He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such a thing, but it was a heavy weight.  Especially in times like these, when the pressure was more than he thought himself capable of carrying.

But it was never a burden.  It was something he’d chosen, and something he would fight to keep.  Just as Loki was fighting to keep him.

Loki wanted him.  He was willing to defy the laws of Time itself to keep him.  It was worth the risk.  To Loki, _he_  was worth the risk of bringing the ire of the All-Father down on him once again.  Clint wasn’t stupid, he  _knew_ that whatever plan Loki had to make this happen would put him once again in the role of the villain, despite his intentions.

It was worth it to Loki, but to Clint?  To risk losing his god, to have him snatched away because of a misguided attempt to save him from his own nature?  That was a gamble he wasn’t willing to bet on.

But he knew if he said any of this aloud, it would only bring more heartache to the already-heartsick god.  It was bad enough he’d done this much damage; to truly break him down, to drop him to the lowest pit of despair… it was more than Clint could stomach.  He’d hurt him enough already.

“It always comes back to the same thing, doesn’t it?” Clint asked with a rueful smile.  “You really do want me that much.”

“I do,” Loki agreed.  “I will  _always_  want you, my Hawk.  You are mine, as I am yours.  We belong to each other.  Even Time itself has no right to take you from me.”

Clint could only swallow against the ache in his throat and nod before once again resting his forehead against Loki’s.  He blinked his eyes back into focus, and tried to tell himself it was his condition that made his vision waver for a moment.

“I can’t promise you forever, Loki.  Not… right now.”  He sensed the bitter disappointment in the air between them, but it was laced with a faint tinge of hope.  He hadn’t said ‘no’ outright.  “I need time to think.  I  _really_  need to think about this.  Can you give me that, at least?”

 

Loki’s arms crept around Clint’s back, clinging to his archer as he shut his eyes tightly against the tears of relief that threatened to overflow.  There had been no outright denial; no continued effort to convince him that Clint’s fate was set in stone, and as such, Loki felt the tiny ember of hope he carried in his heart burn a little brighter.

 

If his Hawk needed time to think, then that is exactly what he would receive.  

 

"Of course," Loki murmured.  "I will give you time, or anything else that you may want or need, my Hawk.  There will be no reminders or pleading words.  Just…time.  And when you have made your decision,  _then_  we will speak of this again."

Clint breathed a small sigh of relief and tightened his arms around his broken god.  Loki may not be entirely happy with the answer he’d been given, but he was accepting, and that was a damn sight better than what he’d been thirty minutes ago.  The mental image of Loki cowering against the couch as he screamed at himself swam behind the archer’s eyes, and he bit back a growl.  The god had warned him of the futility of trying to protect him from himself, but Clint had vastly underestimated _exactly_  how difficult a task it would prove to be.

"Thank you," he replied.  "This is…well, it’s a huge thing to wrap my mind around."

"I know," Loki stated quietly.  "And I can ask for no more than you have given.  Just that you will consider my offer."  He pressed a small, chaste kiss to Clint’s lips, and murmured, “Thank you for that."

 

There was still a part of Clint that refused to accept what Loki was offering.  The part of himself that was hardwired to consider his own self-preservation, essentially, the part of himself that  _made_  him mortal, was still balking at even the thought of turning over his very nature and making him something all together different.  He couldn’t help but wonder what it would turn him into; what would he become if he did this? 

It was a frightening thought, and it was something he was going to have to consider carefully before he came to any decision one way or the other.  On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to give Loki what he wanted, to see him finally happy, without the constant reminder that he just wasn’t permanent.  On the other, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified of losing the very thing that made him who he was.  It was just a simple fact; Clint was mortal, he always had been, and until very recently, he was sure he always would be.  He knew he acted as though he could live forever, with barely a thought or action spared to keeping his own hide intact.  The fact was, his thoughts were never far from his own demise.  It would be difficult not to always have that in the back of his mind, and there were times when it was a lot closer than that.

But he had promised Loki he would consider it, and he  _would_.  But right now, he just wanted to have his god.  He’d gotten a very harsh reminder of his own fragile nature earlier that day and he was still reeling from it.  The loss of his vision was a terrifying thing, and he still hadn’t come to terms with it. 

It might surprise Loki to know that his first thought upon hearing the news was not that he would mourn the loss of his archery.  No, the first thing he’d thought when he was told he would lose his sight was that he would never be able to see Loki again, and might even, over the course of time, forget what he even looked like.  That thought had sent a splinter of pain straight through his heart that was still firmly embedded, and all of the strife that had followed certainly hadn’t helped to dislodge it.

Clint’s arms wrapped tight around Loki’s shoulders as he returned the god’s embrace, and he buried his face in the dark hair and breathed deep, and tried to tell himself that, even if he decided against taking Loki’s offer, even if he world did slowly fade to black, he would still have this.

 

Loki sagged in Clint’s arms, resting his cheek against the side of the archer’s head.  He fought against the slight tremors still running through his body, focusing instead on the warmth of his Hawk against him and the rhythmic thud of the other man’s heart.  Slowly, he brought himself back to center, pushing away that ever present thread of panic that flared so brightly where Clint’s mortality was concerned.

 

He’d promised not to beg or bother; to simply wait and allow Clint to make his decision.  In order to do that, he would have to put the fear out of his mind; to cage the constant worry, and be patient.  

 

"I am so sorry, my love," Loki murmured, bringing one hand up to stroke through Clint’s hair.  "So very sorry about all of this."

 

Loki already felt a choking guilt that he had reacted the way he had to Clint’s news.  His Hawk had been on the verge of  _tears_  when he had arrived home; so shaken by the diagnosis that his stoic walls had not just been lowered, but fairly destroyed.  Granted, he’d tried to hide his upset and put on a brave face, but Loki had been painfully aware just how troubled the archer had been.  

 

 _‘And rather than comfort him, I instead responded like a spoiled child,’_  Loki thought ruefully.

 

 _‘He will resent you for it, in time,’_  came that damnable voice, slipping in one final barb before falling silent again.

 

The god sighed heavily, choosing to ignore those poison words in favor of the comfort of Clint’s embrace.  Turning his head, Loki pressed a kiss to the side of the archer’s throat, whispering, “All will be well, no matter the outcome.  I promise you this, my Hawk; all will be well."

 

Would it? Clint wasn’t sure he could believe that, not right now, when he was torn between choosing what pieces of himself he could afford to lose.  He tried to imagine life without his eyes, and wondered why Loki would even want to stay, to see him fumble through the rest of his life in the dark.  And when he tried to imagine a life that stretched into eternity, his mind simply couldn’t grasp it.  It was such an impossible concept, he didn’t even know how to speculate.

And still there was a secret part himself that couldn’t help but wonder; what if Loki grew tired of him?  Perhaps not until much, much further down the road, but there was always that doubt, that feeling of not being enough for the god to hold his interest.  He was sure he meant it  _now_ , they hadn’t been together long enough for him to grow bored quite yet, but given years?  Decades?  _Centuries?_   He was bound to lose interest sooner or later, that was just the way of these things.  Eventually, there would be nothing left to hold them to each other, and they would drift apart.  And Clint would be left with an eternity of regrets to look forward to.

Oh but that hurt to think about; he’d never cared about anyone the way he cared about Loki.  He knew he would probably never care about anyone else the same way.  He didn’t  _want_  to, and the part of him that yearned for nothing but Loki’s happiness, to always give him exactly what he wanted, was even now prompting him to accept Loki’s offer. 

Another part, a selfish, frightened part, was digging in its heels, stubbornly refusing to accept that anyone would want  _him_  so much as to bind them to an eternity together.

Clint didn’t want to think about this right now.  He was too emotionally wrung-out to put himself through even more turbulent thoughts when he didn’t have to.  Loki had given him the time he’d asked for, there was no rush to make a decision just yet.  He still had his sight, it wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.  It was a little early for the doom-saying to start just yet.

With his voice muffled against Loki’s shoulder, Clint said, “You don’t have to make me promises, Loki. I just want you.  Just… be here.  That’s all I need right now.”

 

"You have me, my Hawk," Loki breathed.  “Here in your arms; right where I belong.  And I will be with you every step of the way."

 

Clint let out a trembling sigh, before whispering, “Good."  He ground his forehead into the solid press of Loki’s shoulder, eyes clenched tightly shut as he breathed in the unique scent of his god.

 

Loki’s brows drew together and he tightened his hold on the smaller man.  Never had he seen the archer quite so vulnerable, and a fierce protectiveness rose in his chest.  He found himself wishing that this cursed disease had a physical form; one which Loki could stand against and somehow shield Clint from its’ ravaging effects.  But it was a part of his Hawk, and as such, Loki simply had to accept it.

He didn’t have to like it, though.

"I will happily provide you with all that you need;  _whatever_  you need.  Simply ask, and I will deliver."

 

It was the last blow, Clint’s walls couldn’t take any more, and they finally crumbled.  The next breath he took hitched in his throat before falling from him in a strangled sob.  He clutched tighter at Loki’s shirt, hands balling into desperate fists as he clenched his jaw against yet more sobs.

He’d been holding back for far too long, the backlog of emotion he’d been keeping inside was rising up all at once now that his guard was well and truly down.  Every breath seemed to betray him, no longer content to stay silent.  Instead, his body shook with the tremors of all the fear, doubt and uncertainty he’d been hiding all along.

Loki tensed beneath him, and he felt the god go still and silent at the first hitch of his breath.  Clint cursed himself and redoubled his efforts to rein in his emotions.  He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, he was meant to keep Loki from falling apart.  How could he hope to do that when he couldn’t even keep  _himself_  together?

This was what Loki wanted for the rest of eternity?

 

"Stop holding back, my Hawk," Loki chided while lightly scratching his nails against the archer’s scalp.  "There is no shame in showing your emotions, and hiding them away will only bring you more pain."

 

Clint shook his head, teeth tightly clenched against the swelling sobs.  He wasn’t going to let this get the better of him; he  _couldn’t_.

 

"You’ve been strong for long enough, I think," the god murmured.  With a soft tug to the hair threaded through his slender fingers, Loki pulled back enough to meet Clint’s eyes.  "You have been my anchor countless times…now allow me to be yours.  Let me be your strength while you are weak; the soothing balm to your hurt.  Let go."

 

Loki’s words cut the last thread of Clint’s resolve, and his vision wavered for a moment before he felt the wet heat of tears tracking down his cheeks.  Still he tried to cage the hitching breaths; unwilling to give voice to his misery and fear.

 

The god leaned in and gently licked away the tears that streaked his Hawk’s face.  Pulling the archer back to him, he breathed into his ear, “I am here, Clint.  As always…and in whatever way you need."

 

Clint buried his face against Loki’s throat, allowing a quiet sob to slip free as he trembled in the god’s embrace.  And still he fought the rising tide of emotion that threatened to tear him apart.

 

"It was  _you_  that brought me through Hel intact," Loki stated firmly as his hands stroked over Clint’s spine, soothing the tremors as best he could.  "Now I intend to do the same for you.  I  _will_  bring you through this, my Hawk.  Have no doubt."

 

This was all wrong.  It was backwards and upside-down and inside out and twisted back around on itself.  In his head, Clint was cursing himself for being such a fucking coward that he couldn’t handle something like this without breaking down into a sobbing mess.  He didn’t want Loki to have to bring him through anything, that was  _his_  job, he was trusted with it long before this began between them, and he’d be damned if he failed after all this time.

The few tears he’d managed to shed would be the last, he promised himself.  It was bad enough he’d let that much slip, and even worse that Loki had witnessed it.  He didn’t doubt the god’s conviction, he was sure there was no judgment behind those concerned green eyes, but that didn’t mean Clint was going to allow himself to fall apart.  There was no excuse; failure simply was not an option.

With a deep, steadying breath, Clint lifted his face, his eyes dry and the shuddering breaths firmly held behind his teeth.  He tried to ignore the disappointment in Loki’s eyes at the sight of his grief caged once more, but what could he do?  It was too much too soon, he didn’t know how to handle everything he’d been suppressing all this time, not without becoming completely unhinged.  The last thing he wanted was for Loki to witness such a display.

"I’m fine," he rasped, fighting against the tightness in his throat.  “Sorry…  I just… sorry," he finished weakly, turning his face away from that steady gaze.

 

"Stubborn thing," Loki said fondly, sliding his hand down to grasp the nape of the archer’s neck.  "You needn’t apologize for this, my Hawk.  I know you have cast yourself as the protector; the strong one.  But even those with the most strength must occasionally  _feel_."

 

Clint nodded mutely, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face to wipe away any lingering evidence of those traitorous tears.

 

"There will come a day," Loki murmured, “where you must face the emotions you have ignored.  I hope you do not feel the need to shield me from such a thing, Clint, as that is not something you should have to bear alone."

 

"We’ll see," Clint mumbled.

 

"We will, indeed," the god replied softly, and nuzzled against the side of the archer’s head, breathing deeply of his scent.

 

Loki always seemed so sure of Clint’s ability to do the impossible.  It was clear he was just humoring him, all the while waiting for the day Clint would eventually break down.

The truth was, Clint didn’t know  _how_  to deal with what was running through his head.  It was one of the main reasons he’d never been able to get very far in any of his relationships… if they could even be called that.  There was something within him, some kind of block that kept him from letting his emotions surface.  He told himself he didn’t feel anything, so when the inevitable ruin finally came, he wouldn’t have to take the hurt with him.

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?  Because it  _did_  hurt.  Every damn time.  And the thing that hurt the most was knowing that it was always, without fail, his own fault. 

Would it be better for Loki to know that there was a tangled, knotted mess inside of his precious ‘Hawk’, or would keeping it hidden — and, consequently, making it even worse — be safer in the end?  And would Loki even want to stick around long enough to find out?  He just didn’t know.

Why couldn’t things ever be simple?  There was always something springing up to throw a wrench into the gears of their budding relationship.  Every single milestone had been soaked in tears; mostly Loki’s, but his own had been added now, too.  Was this how it was always going to be?  Every step forward had to be a battle, one of them pushing or pulling the other, kicking and screaming.

Clint quickly decided he didn’t care.  If that was the price he had to pay to keep Loki by his side, and to keep his own place beside the god, then he would do so without a second thought.  Because he  _did_  love him, and as he’d so often heard before, love made people do stupid things.

"I’m not the only stubborn one, here," he said, nudging his head against Loki’s cheek.  “Don’t start slinging that word around me, Princess."

 

"I will not deny that," Loki answered, giving a pleased hum as Clint leaned into him.  "We are well matched in that particular trait, and you must admit that sometimes it has its’ uses."

 

"Yeah it does," Clint replied quietly.  "If you hadn’t been so damn stubborn; so dead set on earning my friendship…well, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?"

 

A fresh ache rose in Loki’s throat, and he murmured, “No.  We would not.  And what a tragedy that would have been; to have missed the opportunity to call myself yours."

 

Loki’s hand tightened just a bit at Clint’s nape; his fingertips moving in small circles as he pondered why the archer felt such a desperate need to keep his emotions caged.  The god knew very well what a dangerous game Clint was playing.  Had his downfall not come from having spent eons hiding his own feelings; ages of wearing a false smile while his very soul was in turmoil?  

 

He was loathe to see his Hawk suffer the same fate.

 

But it was up to Clint to find a way to bypass his pride and express the pain he so doggedly hid away.  Loki could do nothing to assist him in freeing his feelings; just simply be there for him when the dam finally broke.

 

"I like how you say that like it’s a good thing," Clint said, eyes closing at the soothing motions of Loki’s fingers against his nape.

"Belonging to you?" Loki questioned.  When Clint nodded, he gave a small, sad smile.  “It is the best thing to ever happen to me," he said.  “Please never doubt that, my Hawk."

Clint simply shook his head and pulled Loki tighter against him.  “Don’t.  Just… I like it.  Didn’t think anyone would  _want_  to."

 _Not when I’m broken and falling apart and trying to break everything else along with me_ , he finished in his own mind. 

It was then the thought struck him; perhaps the reason Loki was so adamant about keeping him was the fact that he was broken, as well.  Perhaps in different ways, and certainly to a different degree, but the fact remained that Clint simply  _couldn’t_  break Loki because he already was.  And while it hurt him deeply to know that, it also made him feel as though a heavy weight was lifted from him. 

Loki had already been through worse things than Clint could even imagine.  Certainly worse things than Clint himself would ever put him through, intentionally or not.  If the worst thing Clint could do would be to leave, then there really was nothing for him to worry about, because he had no intention of leaving.

 

"I have never wanted anything more," Loki murmured and pressed a kiss to Clint’s temple.  "And I am never so pleased and proud as when you call me yours.  The way you look at me; the light that flares in your eyes; and then comes that verbal claim.  ’Mine.’  It never fails in making my heart beat all the faster."

 

"Is that so," Clint asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a lopsided smile. 

 

"Oh yes," the god answered quickly, capturing the archer’s wrist and lifting his hand to his chest before covering it with his own.  "Since the very first time you uttered that word; from the first moment I knew you wanted me as your own."

 

Clint lifted his gaze to Loki’s, taking in the longing in the god’s eyes.  It always got to him when Loki waxed poetic about his want; detailing the small ways that Clint’s words and actions affected him.  Even after all this time, and despite Loki’s constant hunger for him, the archer felt a bit of awe that he was able to inspire such a reaction in his god.

 

"You  _are_  mine, Loki," he rumbled, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.  "Just as much as I am yours.  Never forget that."

 

And under Clint’s palm, he felt the god’s heart increase its’ rhythmic throb in agreement.

 

If ever Clint needed proof of Loki’s true feelings, this would be it.  He knew Loki had made lying an art form; he could make anyone believe whatever he wished them to, but in this, his traitorous heart would betray him every time.  The God of Lies had his tells, after all, and Clint was nothing if not observant.  The rhythm of his breath, the beat of his pulse, even the sound of his steps had all, at one time or another, betrayed a lie.  Clint knew him like no other, inside and out, in all of his various forms. 

There was no lie in that frenetic pulse, the heart thumping beneath his palm was quite possibly the most honest thing  _about_  the Trickster God, and Clint found himself trusting it more easily as time went on.  He knew it wounded Loki when his words weren’t enough, but Clint had been lied to so often, he needed more than mere words. 

But this… this was enough.  This told Clint all he needed to know about the depth of Loki’s love.  To be called his — to be  _owned_  by his Hawk — was the single greatest joy in his life.  Even still, after being hurt time and again by Clint’s carelessness, his own inability to accept what Loki so freely offered, his fumbling attempts to make him happy, Loki wanted nothing but to belong to him.

Clint wasn’t normally the sentimental type.  Grandiose shows of affection were rare.  Once again, it seemed as though he was to make an exception for Loki.  The god was so starved for any scrap of his attention, it seemed cruel to deny him something so small that would mean everything to him.  Clint supposed it wouldn’t hurt to show him every now and then just how much he really felt.

It was just a small thing, really.  A slight tilt of the head as he pulled Loki closer, until their lips brushed, just faintly.  He heard Loki’s breath hitch at the barely-there contact, and the fingers at his nape stilled their movements as he waited for what his Hawk would gift him with.

 

The heat that coursed through Loki at the slightest show of Clint’s affection never failed to steal the god’s breath.  His heart sped further under the archer’s hand, and Loki felt himself leaning into the smaller man, unconsciously straining for that mouth; yearning for another touch of those lips.

 

Clint did not disappoint.  

 

Again came the most minimal contact; the tiniest press of their flesh and the warm wash of his Hawk’s breath against Loki’s skin.  The god leaned his forehead against Clint’s, holding that steel blue gaze as a shudder wrung through him.  It seemed that no matter the action; whether it be violent need or gentle reverence, Clint held the skill to break Loki apart, to heighten his constant hunger to a near painful ache.

 

It was maddening; and wonderful; and just a touch frightening how quickly he responded to the smallest touch; the lightest press of fingertips against his skin.  And rather than satiating the god, each new instance only served to make him all the more ravenous.  

 

It was never  _quite_  enough.

The god’s fingers slid up into short, silken hair to gently scratch against Clint’s scalp as he nuzzled closer, leaning in to steal a third kiss.  And as he pressed his mouth firmly to his Hawk’s, Loki gave voice to a quiet, shuddering moan.

Clint swallowed that moan as he dropped all pretenses and claimed Loki’s mouth with his own.  The light, teasing brush of lips had served its purpose, it had coaxed Loki into taking what he wanted, and now Clint could truly get down to the business of giving it to him.

The hand resting over the god’s chest gripped the fabric of Loki’s shirt and tugged him closer, until there was no space between them.  The other twined through the dark fall of his hair to hold him in place.

Loki voiced another moan at the swift change in his Hawk’s attentions.  It was just one more thing he loved about his archer, he could never truly become complacent because Clint would  _never_  be predictable. 

Like now, still kneeling on the floor in the wake his own tears, Clint was leading him through the motions, guiding him into that place they both knew so well, where the world narrowed down to just the two of them and all else failed to matter.  Loki had felt his entire world shift with the emotional upheaval of earlier, and to still have his Hawk, in his arms, still  _wanting_  to be there, to stay with him… the god’s mind was reeling.

Clint could sense that Loki’s emotions were still rather close to the surface.  In a way, he was glad, because so were his own.  He wasn’t alone in this, at least.

 

The ache in Loki’s throat lessened with each touch of Clint’s lips; each stroking pass of his fingertips served to soothe the god’s anxiety just a bit more, until all the nervous tension had drained from his lean frame.  He pressed ever tighter against his archer, his hands languidly moving over the other man, mapping the play of muscles in Clint’s back; the slope of his chest; and the solid press of his arms around Loki’s body.

There was an undercurrent of something  _more_  in the greedy kiss Clint was gifting him.  Something beyond simple lust, and Loki shivered lightly in the circle of his Hawk’s embrace.  Had the archer not said that he was far better as  _showing_  how he felt versus  _speaking_  of the same?  His actions now merely served to verify that claim, and Loki found himself eagerly anticipating all that was about to be shown to him.

Clint broke the kiss and dipped his head to trace the tip of his tongue over the god’s jawline.  The quiet whimper Loki uttered unfurled a banner of heat in the archer’s belly and he mouthed that pale throat in response, scraping his teeth lightly against the frantic pulse beneath the skin.

And through it all, echoing joyfully though Loki’s mind, was the thought that despite all the strife and hardship; still his Hawk  _wanted_  him.

 

With his defenses laid low by all that had come before, Clint was helpless against the shudder that gripped his spine at the sounds Loki was making for him.  To hear the quite moans and sighs he wrung from his god as he mapped his skin, to feel his body thrumming beneath his touch gave Clint just that much more impetus to keep going.  He wanted nothing but Loki’s happiness, even his own was secondary to that, and to know that he could do so with such a simple touch told Clint that at least in this, he was doing something right.

It was still such an odd thought, that he was what brought Loki happiness.  As often as Loki had told him, had tried proving it over and over again, Clint still couldn’t fathom  _why._ When he was such a broken, pathetic thing in so very many ways.  There was a  _reason_  no one had stayed with him, why he was so clueless as to how to truly love someone.  There was something he carried within himself, some deep-seated need to ruin everything before it could ruin _him._   

It didn’t seem fair that Loki should be the one to suffer because he was such a coward.  If he knew how to stop it, he would, in a heartbeat.  Loki had suffered enough for his own crimes, he shouldn’t have to struggle for this.

Maybe one day, Clint would be able to shake that damned cowardice.

 

Something about his Hawk shifted, and the archer seemed to still slightly even though his fingers continued to stroke through the ebony fall of Loki’s hair.  The god pulled back slightly, seeing Clint’s gaze far and fixed, with a touch of melancholy dulling those blue eyes.  And with a small frown, Loki cupped the side of Clint’s face, turning that vacant stare back up to meet his own.

"Come back to me," the god murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his Hawk’s mouth.  "Whatever troubles you; set it aside and let me banish those restless thoughts."  

Loki slid his hand to the nape of the archer’s neck and tugged him forward into a blistering kiss, pouring every ounce of his need, want and devotion into it; hoping to drive the storm-clouds from the smaller man’s eyes.  Clint arched into the god’s touch, giving an equal measure of lust and affection in return, voicing a low, needy whine at the hard press of Loki’s body against his.

"Yes," Loki hummed.  "Focus more on the pleasure I can bring you, my Hawk, and less on the doubts and turmoil.  There will always be time for those later.  But now we have each other…and we should not waste a moment between us."

 

Clint was tired of fighting his own stubborn insistence, to overthink everything until he drove them both crazy.  And while he felt as though this was far from being resolved, he simply didn’t have it in him to keep up the struggle.  Loki wanted him, even as he was, so that should be good enough for Clint, too.

He pushed down that ever-present stubborn pride and took possession of Loki’s mouth once more with his own.  He felt the god respond greedily, taking every bit of his Hawk he was offered while at the same time demanding more.

This, Clint knew.  He was good at this, at pulling that wanton, hedonistic creature from its lair.  It wasn’t a difficult task, it lurked just beneath the surface, always caged but never tamed.  Clint had learned he could provoke it with barely even a thought; all it took was for Loki to see him in the right light, a certain timbre of his voice, the way he moved, and he would be upon him.  It seemed almost a game at times; he was always finding new ways of inciting his god’s lust, often in surprising ways. 

It was no different now, as Clint’s thoughts turned once more to wringing more of those sounds from Loki’s throat.

 

That sniper’s focus once more fell upon Loki, making him feel that nothing else mattered; nothing else  _existed_  beyond the two of them, and he gave a pleased purr.

And he had spoken the truth.  There was time enough later for strife and pain and uncertainty.  But now he had his Hawk in his arms and the god would not allow anything else to intrude upon that.  The shock and fear of Clint’s news had receded…somewhat…but the frantic need to reaffirm his want and love for his archer had remained.  

The knowledge that any moment could well be their last always lurked in the back of Loki’s mind, but that only made up a small part of the god’s hunger for his Hawk.  There were a myriad other things that drew him to his archer and made the need  _swell_  until Loki feared he would burst from the pressure.  Clint inspired him in ways he had never experienced before; he made the god want to give just as much as he took.

That thought burned through Loki, pooling in his belly like a liquid fire, and he was suddenly desperate to give Clint whatever he wanted; whatever he  _needed_.  He’d reacted badly in their earlier exchange; crumbling when his Hawk needed him to be strong.  But in  _this_  he could provide.  

Pulling back, Loki murmured against Clint’s mouth, “What do you want of me, my love?  You have but to ask, and I shall deliver.  Let me be whatever you need most."

 

"Just this," Clint answered.  “Just you.  I don’t need anything else."

He knew what Loki meant, and as always, it pained Clint to think that he felt the need to offer more, as if he was not enough.  He was  _more_  than enough, and Clint wished he knew what it was he did that made Loki think he needed anything more than this. 

Loki’s fingers crept through his hair and gave a slight tug to pull him back, his eyes burning down into Clint’s own.

"So you have told me," he said.  “But I wish to give you more.  You deserve more than my mere presence.  Is there nothing more you wish of me?  You have a god wrapped around your finger, Clint.  It seems a shame to let that potential go to waste."

The words were spoken in a teasing tone, but Clint was close enough to see the uncertainty wavering behind his eyes.  For some reason, Clint’s refusal to  _ask_ anything of him seemed to fuel the ever-present doubt.

"You’re enough for me," Clint told him, and he hoped the honesty of his words would convince him of the truth.  His hand went around to grip the back of Loki’s neck, giving a firm squeeze as he held his gaze.  “You really are, Loki.  I don’t want a  _god_ , I just want you.  Even if you weren’t a god, I would still want you."

Loki’s eyes flicked between his own, and though he was trying to hide it, Clint still saw the ache of confusion within.  This must be what it was like dealing with his own inability to understand  _why_  Loki wanted him so much.  To have the truth of your feelings doubted was never an easy thing, especially when all your efforts to prove them fell on deaf ears.

Clint swallowed against the tightness in his throat, only now beginning to realize how Loki must feel when he questioned the why of his feelings.  It didn’t  _matter_ why, it was obviously something Clint had no control over, so there was no reason to keep wondering.  Especially if it only hurt Loki when he did so.  Simple acceptance shouldn’t be this difficult.

"I love you, Loki," he finally said, and he saw the confusion falter as those green eyes widened at those words.  “And it’s enough to know that you love me too."

 

"I do," Loki breathed while holding Clint’s steady gaze.  "So much.  And I will never tire of hearing those words.  I waited, and yearned, for so very long; hoping that someday I would earn that declaration.  My heart lifts each time you speak of your love."

The god leaned in until his lips brushed against Clint’s as he spoke.  "Your insistence that you need nothing beyond the knowledge of my love?  I have never felt so wanted, my Hawk.  Never have I felt so…valued.  Thank you for that."

Clint bridged the tiny distance that remained between them and claimed Loki’s mouth once more.  The kiss was slow and languid and filled with a longing that burned through the archer’s veins, strengthening the thought that no matter the form or face; no matter if he were god or mortal, he would never  _not_  want Loki. 

The press of Clint’s fingers against the nape of Loki’s neck was driving him mad.  Even though his softer feelings were still very close to the surface, the god’s imagination was wandering through very different territory indeed.  The mental image rose of Clint moving Loki’s mouth over his insistent length, with nothing more than that steady hand upon his neck to guide him, and the god moaned.  

As much as he hungered for these more tender moments; cherishing each instance of affection and care; still his body cried out for  _more_.

Bringing his hands to Clint’s shoulders, Loki gently pushed the archer back, murmuring, “I want to use my mouth on you, my Hawk.  Please?"

 

Clint blinked, then a slow, knowing smirk crossed his face.

"I guess I didn’t have to ask after all," he said.  “You always beat me to it."

A smile that could  _almost_  be considered rueful touched Loki’s mouth before he reached for the hem of Clint’s shirt, lifting it slowly to let his fingers skate over the warm skin just above the waist of his jeans.

"I do not see how I can be blamed for that," he said, and thrilled at the tiny tremors of the flesh beneath his fingers.  “I ache for you at all times, waking and sleeping.  It is a constant struggle." 

As he spoke, his fingers began to loosen the fastenings of his pants.  Clint’s eyes were riveted to the sight of those long, nimble fingers working his jeans open, the knowledge of what would come after causing his breath to come faster.  His fingers curled into fists to keep them still from the sudden urge to help speed things along.

"I guess I can’t blame you," Clint said, his breath hitching at the feeling of quick fingers drawing the zipper down over his waking arousal.  “I want you just as much."

Loki’s eyes flicked up to meet his own, and when Clint met them, there was just the tiniest spark of mischief hidden there.

"Is that so?"

Clint bit his lip against a moan as those fingers slid inside and teased along his straining flesh, and nodded even as his hips bucked up into the touch.

 

Loki gave a pleased hum as he loosely circled his fist around Clint’s length.  He’d barely begun and already the archer was achingly hard.  The god gave long, slow pull from base to tip, and then circled his thumb over the sensitive head, watching as his Hawk’s eyes darkened with lust.

"If ever I doubted your words, your body’s eagerness would show me the error in my thinking." Loki purred.

"Damn right," Clint panted, feeling waves of arousal rippling out from every touch the god gifted him.  The press of those slender fingers on his heated flesh, and the tremors that followed were making it hard for him to think.  And as Loki firmed his grip and began to stroke, a shuddering moan broke from Clint’s throat.

A few more teasing motions were all the god could stand before he pushed gently at the center of his Hawk’s chest.  "On your back, if you please," he requested, eyes hooded and smoldering.  "I wish to taste you, heavy on my tongue, while your pleasured cries ring in my ears."

Clint darted his head forward to lick across the god’s mouth before he pulled back to quickly strip off his shirt.  Tossing it aside, he gave a smug grin, noting how Loki’s eyes immediately tracked across his exposed torso.  The god’s tongue slicked over his lower lip, and Clint marveled at the ease which he was able to ignite the other man’s lust.  It was a heady feeling, knowing that something as small as a look, or the flex of his arm could bring such a reaction.

As he eased himself down to the floor, Loki quickly moved to straddle Clint’s thighs and bend over the archer to press his teeth into golden flesh.  Nipping and licking over the trembling expanse of his Hawk’s belly, Loki gave a rumbling growl, his hands moving to the waist of Clint’s pants to tug them down just past his hips.

 

Clint would never tire of seeing the hungry look pass over Loki’s face as he bared himself to his eyes.  It went beyond mere lust, it was a  _need_ , as if Clint really was as essential to Loki as breathing.  To be that vital, to know he could give Loki something he needed so badly, it caused that inner beast within him to purr in contentment.

Even now, as Loki slowly worked his way down to his aching length, he could sense he was holding back from taking everything all at once.  He knew how strong Loki could be, he knew how much he was restraining himself.  To know that Loki could break him any time he chose, and know that he never would, to be the one for whom that strength was gentled, it was almost overwhelming.  Loki was always mindful never to undermine Clint’s own strength, to never make him feel in any way as if he were inferior, but the fact remained that, even on his best day and Loki’s worst, the god still outmatched him in almost every way.

Instead, Clint felt a thrill to know he had such a powerful creature to call his own.  On his knees, kneeling above him,  _begging_  to be allowed to use his mouth upon him.

There was more — so much more — to it than that, but right then, as Loki was nipping and licking ever closer to his insistent length, Clint was simply in awe that he could have such an effect.  He hadn’t been lying when he told Loki no one had ever wanted him as much.  He couldn’t remember a time when anyone had been so focused on simply bringing him pleasure, who took pleasure in such a thing themselves.

It should have caused his ego to swell to unmanageable proportions, but Clint was strangely humbled.  He still didn’t know what it was about him that inspired such a thing from someone like Loki, and until he did, he would try his best not to ruin it.

 

Clint’s breathing was coming a little faster and a lot more ragged as Loki slowly worked his way down the archer’s body.  And then there was a moment of silence as the god nuzzled against his hardened flesh, warm breath washing over heated skin.  

Then Loki let his tongue out to play, and the silence was broken by a shuddering groan.

Licking a hot stripe up the underside of Clint’s cock pulled a hissing cry from his Hawk’s throat even as his hips arched up, chasing the wet heat of Loki’s mouth.  The god gave a pleased little smile and repeated the action, thrilling to the desperate whimper Clint voiced at the second pass of his tongue.

Loki knew of the archer’s love of his mouth.  And he was not shy when it came to delivering such.  If allowed, Loki would have happily knelt for the smaller man whenever and wherever he wished, gaining his own pleasure from nothing more than the throaty cries Clint uttered under his attentions.  In this, Loki tended to treat his Hawk’s body as an altar.  One at which the god was content to worship often and vigorously.

Lifting his gaze, Loki met the glazed stare Clint was directing down at him.  Not content to merely feel the effects of the god’s lust; the archer had to  _see_  as well.  Narrowing his eyes slightly, Loki took the head of Clint’s cock between his lips, suckling gently for a long moment and wringing a muted gasp from the other man.

And then Clint’s hand circled the nape of Loki’s neck, guiding him forward and the god opened his throat, swallowing his Hawk deep.

 

The heat of his mouth pulled a moan from deep in Clint’s gut, and the tightening of Loki’s throat around the sensitive flesh caused his hips to leave the floor.  He wanted to bury himself deeper, always he wanted  _more_ , even when there was no more to take. 

Loki’s eyes burned into his own, and he felt the shudder that moved through him.  He tightened his grip on the back of the god’s neck and snapped his hips up, watching eyelids flutter over that heated stare. 

"If I was ever gonna ask for anything, it would be this mouth," he panted, the fingers of his other hand tangling in the dark fall of Loki’s hair. 

Those eyes snapped back into focus at his words, and he felt the slick slide of his tongue against the underside of his cock.  Clint bit back a moan and surged up into the wet heat of Loki’s mouth again and again.  And the god took him, holding his gaze all the while he used his throat.  When Clint thought he could go no deeper, Loki swallowed around him, the tight heat and clenching of his throat combining to blot out his vision entirely.

But Clint wanted to  _see_.  He hadn’t forgotten what had started this, he was never so aware of his eyes as he was now, and he wanted to make sure that, whatever happened, whatever his decision, he would always be able to remember Loki as he was now.  He found himself wanting to keep Loki always in his sight, for as long as possible; to miss nothing of his god’s face, the lines of his body, the love he could see even now radiating from those poison green eyes as they bored into his own.

Clint wanted to memorize every inch of Loki’s body.

With a mournful whine, Clint pulled Loki from his needy flesh, ignoring the gasps for air as he pulled the god’s mouth against his own.

"I want to see you, Loki," he rumbled against his mouth when he pulled back.  " _All_  of you."

So saying, he surged up from the floor, taking Loki with him. 

"And I really don’t want to do this on the floor again," he finished with a pointed glare.

 

The smug little grin Loki gifted him shot straight into Clint’s gut, curling comfortably around the ever present tension, and heightening his need.  "As you wish," the god murmured, and with a pass of his hand and a quiet incantation, Loki’s clothes fell away to nothing.  

He stood bare before Clint, watching as his Hawk’s eyes crawled over his body, the hunger in his gaze flaring as he took in Loki’s own state of arousal.  His grin turned to a knowing smirk, and the god backed slowly toward the bedroom, leaving the archer to stalk after him.

Clint caught him in the hallway, taking a moment to press Loki against the wall and plunder his mouth as he teased his fingertips over the god’s rigid length.  Loki cried out in surprised lust, and Clint swallowed his moans and whimpers as he ground the taller man into the plaster.  

After a moment, Loki squirmed free, panting, “If you do not wish to consummate our need on the floor, then perhaps you should be a bit more patient."

The archer’s hand slipped around Loki’s nape once more, and he chuckled lightly as the god’s eyes drifted half shut in pleasure.  Firming his grip, Clint turned Loki, guiding him the final few feet down the hallway, through the door, and to the bed beyond.

Loki hit his knees at the edge of the bed and pulled Clint to him, turning the shorter man and pushing him down onto the mattress.  The god wrapped long fingers around the archer’s thighs and he uttered a greedy little whine before leaning in and swallowing him down in one smooth motion. 

 

A surprised hiss bled from between Clint’s clenched teeth as his cock was once more encased in the warm confines of Loki’s throat.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to use his mouth on him.

Leaning back on his palms, Clint watched Loki work his mouth over his heated flesh.  The sight, paired with the wet and heat, accompanied by the moans and whines and whimpers that bled out around his thick flesh all combined to crush every last bit of his defenses.  To see Loki kneeling before him, wanting to be there,  _begging_  to be there… It had never been more clear to him than in that moment just how much Loki wanted him.  If nothing else ever came of this interlude, Clint was sure Loki would content himself with nothing but this

Oh, but he was  _far_  from finished with his wanton little god.  The longer he watched, the more he wanted.  Just as Loki wished to please him, Clint wanted to give an equal measure in return.

It seemed Loki was determined to see how close he could bring Clint to his end with just his mouth, and Clint had to rein himself in before he let the god’s attentions carry him too far.  His hands twined through dark hair and pulled him up just far enough that he could thrust shallowly between his lips.  Loki turned his eyes up to catch Clint’s own as his tongue flicked against that sensitive spot just beneath the head of his cock.

"Damn it, Loki, don’t you dare make me come yet," he growled down into the smirking eyes below.

 

Loki pulled off of Clint’s cock with a harsh suck, pausing to press the flat of his tongue just under the crown before scraping his teeth over the sensitive ridge.  The growl of warning that rumbled up and out of his Hawk’s chest wrung a shiver from the kneeling god, the urge to offer his throat rising suddenly within him.

"As much as I would enjoy bringing you to ruin with this mouth," Loki purred, interspersing his words with small licks and nips.  "As much as I want you to empty yourself down my throat while your cries of completion ring in my ears, I am far too greedy for your attentions to content myself with just that."

Clint’s hands slid through Loki’s hair, petting softly as he gave a pleased smile.  He would never tire of hearing of Loki’s hunger for him; of seeing the way the god’s eyes lit up when he detailed the ways he wished to pleasure his Hawk.  And Clint would always happily accept that hunger.

"And for as much as I would love to come deep in that tight little throat," Clint murmured, “there’s so much  _more_  I want to do to you, Loki."

"Such as," the god questioned, giving another long lick to the archer’s thick cock, thrilling to the gasping moan Clint voiced in response.

“ _Fuck_ …I-I want everything, Princess.  I want to map every inch of you with my mouth.  I want to touch and taste and feel you; beneath me, around me, inside me.  I want _you_ , Loki.  Every bit of you."

"Then that is what you shall have," Loki stated firmly.  "You ask for so very little, my love…and I want to give you all that you desire.  In whatever way you desire it."  

And with one last teasing flick of his tongue against Clint’s aching flesh, Loki stood to his feet and pushed his Hawk back to the mattress, straddling that solid frame and claiming his mouth.

 

Clint pulled Loki down on top of him, a pleased growl rumbling in his chest as their mouths met.  His fingers slid into long dark hair, fisting gently to hold him in place as his other hand went to Loki’s hip.  He pressed up as he pulled Loki harder against him, swallowing down the god’s moans at the slick friction against his own arousal.  Clint angled his next thrust upwards to grind against the hot line of Loki’s cock, and he grinned against the suddenly voracious mouth sealed against his own as his body came alive above him.

Loki pulled back to pant down into Clint’s smirking face.  “You are a maddening, insolent thing, my Hawk," he said, lifting himself up on one arm as his other hand stroked down the planes of Clint’s chest.

"I know," was Clint’s simple reply.

A tiny smile crossed Loki’s face, and then he sat up fully, the lights of the city streaming through the window highlighting every line and ridge and dip of his long, lean torso.  Clint swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat at the sight of Loki gilded in silver and shadow, the green of his eyes seeming to glow from the reflection of the muted light.

He watched as Loki’s hands trailed down his body, from his throat, down his chest and over the flat plane of his belly.  Still, he rocked against Clint’s hips, a teasing motion that gave barely any friction, only the same constant pressure over and over, and Clint’s eyes were riveted to the flex and pull of muscle beneath smooth, pale skin.

"You wish to see all of me, do you not?" Loki murmured, his hands sliding lower, over his hips to bracket his own straining length.  Clint could only bite his lip and nod, his fingers digging into Loki’s thighs in an effort to keep them where they were.  “Watch me then, Clint."

So saying, he took himself in hand and gave a long, slow pull, his luminous green eyes locked with those of his Hawk.

 

And oh, the  _hunger_  in Clint’s eyes at Loki’s words, and actions, and the slight motion of his hips.  The way that steel blue sniper’s gaze flickered between poison green and grasping fist, drinking in the expression of need and the languid stroking in equal measures.

Loki stuttered his hips, grinding down in a small circle and giving his Hawk a sharper taste of the friction he so craved before he returned to the slow rocking pace he had set.  The quiet, breathy moan that fell from Clint’s lips was enough to send a shiver of pleasure down Loki’s spine, and he set about the task of earning another.

Those slender fingers twisted around the god’s insistent cock, and he arched his back, tilting his hips forward.  "Can you see, my Hawk," he questioned in a low, smoky tone.  "Can you see what you have done to me?  How I  _ache_  for you?  Respond to  _you_?  My body begs in ways my words fail me; so very wanting; so very _needy_."

Clint’s fingertips drew light patterns on Loki’s flexing thighs, the slide of muscle beneath his touch intoxicating as the god moved atop him.  He swallowed thickly, nodding in reply to Loki’s questions, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

"The shine of lust in your gaze moves me as nothing before ever has," Loki panted, his grip firming as he moved faster over his leaking cock.  "To know that I am so wanted; to see my effect upon you.  It is everything I have ever wanted."

The god brushed his thumb over the head of his arousal, gathering a bit of the moisture and leaning forward to trace it against the curve of Clint’s lower lip.  Then with a growl, Loki claimed his Hawk’s mouth, the taste of his come heavy between them.

 

Clint matched Loki’s growl with one of his own, lapping greedily at the taste of him flooding his tongue.  That, paired with the sight of Loki kneeling above him, his hands sliding and working over his own needy flesh, the sounds of his gasps and moans and hitching little breaths all combined to coax the beast from its lair.

With a snarl against that insistent mouth, Clint gripped Loki’s hips and surged up from the bed and twisted, pulling the god beneath him.  The sound Loki uttered, muffled against Clint’s own grasping mouth, was less one of surprise than of eagerness.  Clint knew Loki loved to provoke him into  _taking_ , and when he did, there was nothing Loki would not do in service of his Hawk.

Clint pressed Loki into the sheets, using his knees to spread his legs wider before pulling back to look down at his god, splayed out on his back, panting and desperate for his touch.  Clint’s eyes fell to the heavy length resting against his lower belly, and as he watched, it gave a strong throb of arousal, as if trying to entice him into some kind of action.

It was just as well Clint had planned to anyway; it was a tempting lure, to be sure.  He pressed forward and grasped the leaking flesh with strong fingers, encasing both of their lengths together before giving a slow, dragging pull.  Loki whined and bucked against him, fisting the sheets beside his head as he tried to spread himself even further.

"You love this, don’t you?" Clint murmured, watching as the god writhed beneath him. 

Those green eyes cracked open to mere slits, piercing Clint with his hooded gaze.  Holding Loki’s eye, Clint gave a sharp thrust of his hips, and Loki hissed a breath between his teeth at the shock of pleasure, his back arching from the bed.

"I do  _so_  love the way you ply my body, Clint," he affirmed.  “The way you take me apart, only to build me back up again.  No other before you has ever made me feel as you do."

Even as those words caused his inner beast to growl, that other creature within him wiggled happily at such praise.  To be the one against whom all others would fall short was no small thing, not from someone who had been around as long as Loki.  There was still a part of him that balked at believing such could be true, but it was quickly becoming the minority.

Instead, he leaned over and laved his tongue over the ridge of Loki’s collarbone before setting the edge of his teeth to the pale skin.  He rutted his hips into the tunnel of his fingers, groaning at the drag of hard, hot flesh and reveling in the cries he wrung from the god’s throat.

 

Loki stilled at the feel of Clint’s teeth against his skin.  "Yes," he sighed.  "Mark me yours.  Let me feel that delicious sting of pain that so heightens the pleasure that follows."

"Don’t have to ask me twice," Clint murmured before biting down until the taste of copper and salt flooded his tongue.  

Loki squealed in ecstasy, his hands flying to cradle the back of the archer’s head, holding his mouth to the throbbing ache.  Feeling that hot tongue lap against the angry red mark, the god shuddered.  "Again," he whimpered.  "Please?"

Clint chuckled as the beast inside snarled its’ approval.  He brushed his lips over Loki’s thundering pulse before taking pale flesh between his teeth and worrying at it as he snapped his hips forward again.  The silken friction warred with the pain until Loki was gasping and keening, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

The archer’s grip firmed over their combined girth, and Loki whined low in his throat, canting his hips up, urging Clint to motion.  He stroked in long, steady passes, twisting his fist up and over the tip, then squeezing rhythmically around the base, dragging a strangled cry from the god beneath him.

"Like that, do you," he asked, watching the flutter of Loki’s eyelashes, noting how the flush that stained the god’s cheeks was beginning to spill down into that heaving chest.  "You’re getting close…just from  _this_ ," Clint purred, punctuating his words with a grinding thrust.

"Y-yes," Loki stammered, his fingers sliding free from Clint’s hair to stroke down his spine.  "Your touch alone is enough to break me, my Hawk."

"And I’ve barely even  _started_ ," Clint growled, steel blue eyes flashing down into lust hazed green.

  
That rumbling tone sent a spike of heat straight into Loki’s gut, threatening to push him over the edge.  Clint saw how close he was getting and clamped his hand around the base of Loki’s cock.

"Oh no you don’t," he said.  “Not until I’ve had more of you than just  _this_."  He leaned down and licked across Loki’s gasping mouth, and the god whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut against the tight pressure that was all that was keeping him from spilling.  “You don’t come until I say."

"Please, Clint!" Loki panted, his hands gripping the archer’s tight corded forearms.

“‘Please’ what, Princess?" Clint asked before nipping at his chin. 

"I… I need you!" was the gasped reply, even as his eyes rolled back at the sharp sting of teeth moving over the skin of his throat.

Clint’s hand squeezed even harder, wringing a sobbing wail from the god’s mouth, which he quickly moved up to swallow with his own.  A quick dart of his tongue, just enough to tease, and then he was back to mapping the pale expanse of Loki’s throat once more.

"You have me," he said, his voice muffled against the slope of his shoulder.  “Tell me what you  _need,_  Loki.  I know you’re not shy."  He lifted his eyes and held Loki’s gaze as he lapped wetly the peaked flesh of his nipple, before setting his teeth to the sensitive nub.

Loki pitched beneath him, twisting as if to get away one moment, then pressing into that tortuous mouth the next.  And still, Clint kept his fist clamped tightly around his throbbing length as he teased and taunted the god with his words and actions both.

 

"I need…" Loki sobbed raggedly.  "I… _need_ …"

"Yeah?  What do you need, Loki?  Don’t hold back," Clint prodded.  "Just tell me."

The god’s hands slid up to bracket the archer’s throat, his thumbs stroking over Clint’s cheeks as he returned that steady gaze.  "I need you to fuck me," Loki pleaded.  "Fill the emptiness I carry inside me and make me feel the full measure of your love.  I wish to have the thunder of your heart against my own; and the hissing curses you voice as you sink into me at my ear.  Give me  _everything_ , my Hawk."

"So greedy," Clint murmured, before nipping yet another bruise into the pale flesh of Loki’s chest.

"You love my greed," the god gasped.  "My constant hunger for you and the way the slightest of your actions is my undoing.  You  _revel_  in it."

"Never said I didn’t," the archer growled, nudging Loki’s thighs wider and shifting lower to tease the head of his cock over the god’s entrance.  

Loki’s back arched, and he whimpered at the slight pressure.  His brows drew together as he fixed Clint with a pleading look.  "Please," he whispered.  "Now?"

 

Somehow, Loki had managed to slick himself without Clint noticing; a fact that he might have been a little more gratified to note if he wasn’t already intent on giving the god what he was begging so shamelessly for.  He leaned over, pressing his chest against Loki’s as he slowly pushed forward, sinking into the tight, welcoming heat.  He took in every flicker of expression on Loki’s face, from the slight wince of the initial stretch to the slow bloom of bliss as he was slowly filled.

"That’s what you needed, isn’t it?" he murmured against slightly parted lips.  “To have me inside you?  Filling you up?" 

He gave a slow, shallow thrust, enough to cause Loki’s breath to hitch, and glazed green eyes rolled up before sliding down to hold his own.  He gave the slightest of nods, as if afraid to voice his answer.  His fingers slid back into short brown hair, gripping gently as he held his Hawk’s gaze.

Below, Loki’s hips gave a slow, rocking thrust, and they both let out shuddering moans against the others’ mouth at the feeling of Clint shifting within him.  Then he did it again.  And again.  Their breaths came shorter, faster, as Loki set a steady rhythm.  Clint’s hand, still wrapped around the god’s length, began to stroke in time with his motions.  His eyes stayed riveted to Loki’s, watching the play of expressions cross his face, from shocked pleasure to near-awe as he was brought to the very edge of release and kept there with the barest of teasing strokes.

The body beneath him was shaking, Clint could feel the tremors thrumming through every muscle,  He’d brought Loki so close already, and denied him the release he so craved.  Clint felt he could be selfish in this, at least; Loki would not come until he said. 

 

"This…" Loki whispered, his luminescent gaze boring into Clint’s own.  "This is everything I need.  This is what makes me whole; when two become one, and your love is so very apparent.  Every movement. each hitching gasp and emotion filled look.  This is what heals me and protects me from that self destructive voice in my head."  Loki fell silent, searching Clint’s eyes for a long moment before he finished.  "My dark side can try to deny your words, and sow doubt into my heart…but it cannot deny the truth in this.  Your flesh does not lie, my love."

That familiar ache rose in Clint’s throat as Loki’s words washed over him.  To hear the god speak so plainly and to claim him as the one that could heal him; the one that _protected_  him from himself.  It brought a warmth to Clint’s chest and yet, there was also a cold rill of dread that ran down his spine.  

What would happen to his broken god once he was gone?

Pushing that thought firmly away, Clint dipped his head to brush his lips across Loki’s before fully claiming his mouth.  He tasted deeply, slipping his tongue between panting lips to tease even as his hands continued to stroke and explore.  Loki whined and Clint swallowed it down, the slight rocking motions of the god’s hips picking up speed as his need grew.

Pulling back, Clint looked down into Loki’s eyes, his breath hitching at the shine of love and need that brightened that emerald gaze.  And the archer answered in the best way he knew how; with a shallow, grinding thrust into that tight heat, prompting a whimpering cry from the god beneath him.

 

That sound, along with the tight, clenching heat surrounding him and the desperate grip of the fingers twined through his hair, was too much for Clint to stand against.  His teasing thrusts grew deeper, his hand moved with more purpose, and his reward was more of those needy cries and the tightening pressure around his cock.

"You should know by now I’m a terrible liar," he panted, then leaned down to nip along the line of Loki’s throat.

Loki’s breath hitched at the sting of teeth, the slow drag of flesh within him, and Clint’s voice low and rumbling in his ear.

"Indeed, you would do well to stay on the path of truth, my Hawk.  Lies do not become you," he returned.  “They are vile, ugly things that have no place between us."

With that, Loki pulled Clint’s mouth from the skin of his pulse and brought their mouths together once more.  Clint growled against him, rutting deep as the beast within him prompted him to claim this needy, wanton creature.  The moan Loki cried into his mouth only made him want to do it again, and then again, until the bed was rocking from the force of his thrusts and the moans were a constant song in his ears.

He knew he could finish this now; it would take but a few strokes of his hand and a well-aimed thrust and he would have the god spilling.  Just thought of feeling him come under his attentions was enough to tighten the coil of need in his gut, but there was still a need left unfilled within him.

As much as Loki claimed he needed Clint, for as often as he begged and pleaded and  _demanded_  that his Hawk take him, Clint needed Loki just as much.  Since that first time, after having been claimed so thoroughly, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being so very much wanted.

He had meant it when he said he wanted  _everything_.

Slowing his pace, Clint caught Loki’s eye and held it, steeling his gaze against the pleading cast of his brow and the lamenting whimper.  Desperate fingers clutched at him as he pulled away, rising once more above him.

"Not done yet, Princess," he assured him.  “But you’ve got something I need."

So saying, Clint climbed up to straddle Loki’s body, pressing down on his insistent length.

 

Loki stilled as Clint snugged his knees tight alongside the god’s hips and settled his weight comfortably over him.  His hands slid to his Hawk’s waist, holding him lightly as his eyes widened in wonder.

The archer ground down, moving in small circles as he murmured, “Want you so much, Loki.  In every way I can have you.  And I know you want me the same.  Show me?  Please?"

"Of course," Loki breathed, his voice low and awe-struck.  

There was little that broke him as fully or as quickly as when Clint asked for this.  Their roles had been defined early on; and had remained the same until the night Loki had revealed his Jotunn form.  It was then that the feral beast that resided deep within the god had come forth and claimed his Hawk.  

Thoroughly and completely.  

And the feeling of this proud creature submitting to him;  _begging_  him to be filled, had never entirely left the god’s head.  It burned in the back of his mind, whispering to him now and again, replaying the throaty cries and low pleas that Clint had gifted him.  And the god shuddered, his hips twitching up unconsciously.

Clint gave a little smirk, covering Loki’s hands with his own and guiding them to the cleft of his ass even as he ground down against the god’s straining length.  "Do your little trick," he panted.  "And get me ready for that cock, Loki.  I -need- you…and I don’t want to wait any longer."  

 

Loki had uttered that strange, foreign phrase often enough, Clint had it memorized.  He still had no idea what it meant or how Loki got it to work, but he wasn’t about to complain.  It was possibly the most convenient use of his magic Clint could ever think of. 

Then his distracted thoughts were completely derailed as he felt slicked fingers stroking against his opening.  His body tightened up and he had to force himself to relax against the intruding pressure.  He  _wanted_  this, damn it, and he wasn’t going to let anything — not even his own body — keep him from getting it.

He looked down into Loki’s face and felt his throat tighten at the look of stunned surprise still held within his eyes, as if he simply could not believe that Clint wanted this. 

Holding his gaze, Clint moved his hips against Loki’s fingers, biting his lip against a moan as they slid deeper.  Loki’s breath hitched and his fingers crooked within him, brushing against his hidden spot.  Clint couldn’t keep his gasp contained, and he fell forward over Loki’s body, bracing himself up with one arm as the other splayed across the god’s heaving chest.

"God damn it, that is not fair," he muttered with a mock pout.  “I’m supposed to be the one with the good aim."

A slow, predatory grin spread over Loki’s face at that admission.  “Well, I certainly have had quite enough instruction to be at least passable, have I not?"  And with that, he pressed his fingers deeper, assaulting his target with a ruthless persistence he had definitely  _not_  had to learn from anyone.

"Fuck ‘passable’, you’re gonna finish me off if you don’t quit it," Clint groaned.  Despite his words, he circled his hips, enticing Loki to slip a third finger inside, stretching him wider.

Loki merely gave a pleased hum as he readied his Hawk to take him.

 

The whining gasp Clint gave as Loki breached him with a third finger shot straight to the god’s cock, and he tilted his hips up, pressing more firmly against the archer.

"Not yet, if you please, my Hawk," Loki murmured.  "I’ll not have you spill until I am buried so deep within you that you can barely draw breath."

Clint’s eyes snapped to Loki’s, noting how the god’s pupils were so lust-blown that the green of his iris was nearly eclipsed.  "That sounds good to me," the archer ground out, pushing back against the god’s seeking fingers.

Loki twisted and scissored, slowly working Clint open while his mind still reeled in disbelief.  His thoughts turned back to that first time; the power struggle that had preceded his claiming, the way Clint had growled out,  _‘You have to_ ** _make_** _me want this.’_

Never had the god even considered that the archer might be secretly hungering for _more_.  But now that he knew, he was determined to give Clint everything he wanted, however he wanted it.

Pressing his fingertips firmly against that secret spot tore a needy gasp from the man above him, and Loki growled, “Are you ready for me?"

“ _So_  fucking ready," Clint hitched, his head hanging forward, eyes screwed shut against the sight of Loki’s burning gaze.  "Fill me up, Loki.  Please?"

 

Clint knew his begging got to Loki; the few times he’d cracked enough to beg, he’d noticed the immediate shift from merciless tease to desperate whore.  This time was no different.

Those fingers slid from him, and Clint hissed out a breath at the sudden feeling of emptiness.  Then those same fingers were gripping his hips, moving him into position above the god’s straining length.  Clint reached back and guided Loki to his opening, biting his lip against the whine he wanted to voice. 

It was always a struggle when he took Loki into himself; his body rebelled at the intrusion, unwilling to surrender even the slightest bit to another.  The rest of him fought against that stubborn notion.  This was not giving in, this was acceptance.  He  _wanted_  Loki, it was not a surrender if he was inviting him in.  And he knew how much it meant to the broken god that Clint accepted him,  _all_  of him, and not simply for the use he could get from his body.

He knew Loki could feel his inner struggle as he slowly relaxed enough to let him inside, in the hitching stops and starts as he lowered himself down over his thick length, taking him in an inch at a time.  As impatient as he knew the god to be, hell, as impatient as he was himself, he did not rush, and kept his grip on Clint’s hips as gentle as he could.  He knew his Hawk was giving him something rare and precious, and he needed to let him do so at his own pace.

When finally Clint was seated, when he had taken all that Loki had to give, he opened his eyes to see luminous green gazing up at him with a mix of lust, awe, and not a small measure of adoration.  Once again, Clint was humbled to know that this creature thought him worthy of such a gaze.  It was almost embarrassing, and he felt the warm flush creeping up his throat and into his face. 

He hoped it was dark enough that Loki couldn’t see it.

 

Loki whimpered at the sight of his Hawk astride him, staring down at him with eyes hooded in pleasure.  The diffused light leaking in through the window was just bright enough to highlight certain features, while casting the rest in shadow, and the effect was breathtaking.  

The god reached one hand up, slowly stroking his thumb against a cheek gilded in silver, then down over the shadowed curve of his archer’s mouth.  He moved across the broad chest, pausing over that frantically throbbing heart, and then slid down the divide of his firm stomach to tease over hard, aching flesh.

Clint seemed carved from stone as he held his position, allowing his body to adjust to Loki’s girth, and his breathing came a little more ragged with every light touch of those fingertips.  He uttered a needy little cry when the god’s hand circled around his cock, and his hips twitched forward unconsciously.  The slight drag of Loki’s flesh so deep within drove that cry into a full fledged moan, and Clint rocked forward into the tunnel of the god’s fist.

"So beautiful like this," Loki murmured, giving a tiny, tentative thrust into his Hawk’s welcoming heat.  "So perfect.  I have no words."

Clint shuddered atop the god, rolling his hips down to gain blessed friction against his spot before canting forward to drive into Loki’s grasp.  "What d’ya say before," he gasped, overwhelmed by the sheer bliss of being filled so completely.  "Flesh doesn’t lie?  Fuck the  _words_ , Loki.  Let your body speak for you."

 

Loki took him at his word, driving his hips up into the tight, grasping heat of his Hawk’s body.  The motion pushed a breathless moan from Clint’s throat, and his hips stuttered into Loki’s grasp.  That moan became a near-sob when the next thrust hit his spot, the slow drag of Loki’s cock brushing against it almost teasingly.

"There is that honesty I so admire about you," Loki breathed, watching as Clint slowly began to move atop him.  He bit his lip at the searing heat of the archer’s body surrounding him, and simply lay back as Clint set his own pace.

Clint gazed down at him, his hips moving with new purpose now that he’d found his rhythm, a sent him a sharp, wicked grin.

"Not a liar," he reminded him, adding a twist on his next upward stroke.  The groan he pulled from Loki’s throat only caused that grin to widen.  “Looks like you’re not either, right now."

"Oh no, I will not deny the truth of this," Loki said, his fingers tightening their grip around his straining length even as he moved against Clint’s motions.  “I burn for this, my Hawk.  There is no greater ecstasy than to see you above me, taking all I have to give."

Clint leaned forward, a ghost of his smile still playing over his lips as he brushed them over Loki’s.

"That so, Princess?" he asked before swiping his tongue across those slightly-parted lips.  “Pretty sure you can give me more than this."

 

"Oh?  And is that a  _challenge_  I hear," Loki growled, nipping Clint’s lower lip sharply.  "Goading me into letting the beast out to play, hmmm?"

"Maybe," Clint grinned.  "Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, really."

"If it is the beast you want, my Hawk, then that is  _exactly_  what I shall give you," the god murmured before surging up and twisting to pull Clint under him.  The archer gave a startled cry that melded into a shuddering moan as Loki rutted deep between his spread thighs.  A snarl rose in his chest and the god’s eyes flashed red, prompting a ragged gasp from his Hawk.

"Yes," he moaned, tilting his hips up to meet each harsh thrust.  "Let go, Loki. Let it all out."

Loki dropped to his elbows, his chest flush against Clint’s, trapping the archer’s arousal between their bellies.  He ground forward, holding Clint’s eyes as the familiar green washed away to deep scarlet, and Loki skinned blue-tinged lips back over teeth suddenly far sharper than they’d been a moment before.

"Let it out, you say," he rumbled in that gravely voice that still haunted Clint’s dreams.  "Are you prepared to take all I can give you  _now_?"

"Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t," the archer groaned, bucking up from beneath to grind his cock into Loki’s stomach.

Loki dug his fingers in behind Clint’s right knee, pushing his leg back and spreading his Hawk further.  "Then  _take_  it," he growled, and snapped his hips forward.

 

And here, finally, was what Clint  _needed_.  He didn’t want soft words and gentle touches, he didn’t want Loki holding back.  He wanted  _everything_ , he wanted his god as he really was.  His nature held back for so long he was a feral beast when finally set loose, this was what Clint couldn’t get out of his head.

And yes, he was so very ready to take all that Loki would give him.  He may be mortal, but he was tougher than most, and he knew that Loki would never — _could_  never — hurt him.  What Loki feared was exactly what Clint craved; he _wanted_  to be broken, to be torn down until only feeling remained.  

That low, growling purr was back, rumbling through Loki’s chest as he claimed his Hawk.  Clint gripped the sheets and arched into the pounding thrusts, matching Loki’s feral hunger with his own.  The slide of warm, hard flesh within him drove that spike of heat deeper into his gut, until he felt aflame, lit from the inside.

It was strange, how very warm Loki was while in this form.  As if he burned with a constant fever.  It was enough to start him sweating, although it was hard to tell if it was because of the furnace of Loki’s body or his own exertions.  Perhaps it was both.  Either way, he decided now was not the time to focus on such things.

"More!" he gasped when he could finally draw enough breath to manage words.  “Loki…  _please!  More!_ ”

The growl bled from between Loki’s clenched fangs as he glared down at his Hawk, the snarl twisting his mouth and narrowed his eyes.  In the dark, Clint saw that they did, in fact, seem to glow, lit from within with their own light.

"More, you say?" he rumbled in that voice that thrummed through Clint’s entire body, pooling low in his belly.  “So needy you are, my little Hawk."

"Want you," Clint panted, clutching at the god’s hands holding him spread.  " _All_ of you.  Please?  Give it to me?"

 

"How could I refuse such a request," Loki growled while leaning down to lick across the archer’s panting mouth.  “You have no idea what power you hold over me when you lower your pride and beg." 

Clint caught Loki’s lower lip between his teeth, nipping sharply as he pitched and thrust beneath the god.  “Then give it to me, Loki," he sobbed.  “If you can’t refuse when I beg, then fucking  _give it to me_  already.  I…I can’t.  I  _need_  you…"

Loki’s breath caught in his throat at his Hawk’s broken pleas.  There was nothing that set him to action quicker than when Clint voiced his need; when that stoic facade shattered and the pleas became sobs.  The beast inside howled out its’ approval and Loki bent low over the archer, snarling as he pressed the smaller man’s legs wider as he surged forward.

“ _All_  of me," Loki demanded as he rutted deeper, burying his cock fully within his Hawk’s body.  “Can you take all I have to give?"

"Fuck  _yes_ ," Clint moaned.  “I can take all of it and more.  Fuck me, Loki.  Break me down and use me up.   _Please_?  I want that so fucking bad…"

 

It seemed that those pleading words were all Loki was waiting for, and his next thrust nearly broke the wall behind them as he finally let go.  Clint could only hang on as the feral beast was allowed free reign, nails digging into skin deep enough to draw blood.  His grip on Loki’s forearms turned slick and slightly tacky as he held tighter, still struggling against the hips crashing into his own.

As good as it felt, as much as he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut against the pleasure, he wanted to keep his eyes trained only on his god.  The thought was still dancing in the back of his mind that one day, he would no longer be able to look upon Loki with anything other than his memories.  He wanted as many as possible before the lights truly went out and his world would be relegated to the darkness.

Loki seemed to sense the direction Clint’s thoughts had taken.  His hand left its place behind his knee and took his wrist in hand, pinning it to the sheets beside his head.  Holding Clint’s gaze, he leaned forward and wrapped his long, rough tongue around one bloody finger, cleaning it thoroughly before moving on to the next.

The sight was too much; Clint pulled his nails from Loki’s forearm to tangle his fingers into his hair.  He yanked that dark hair until Loki was snarling down into his eyes, and Clint darted forward and swiped his tongue across red-tinged lips, sharing the taste of the god’s blood between them.

A low purr rumbled in Loki’s chest at the primal act, and Clint growled back in answer.

The tremor that ran through Loki at the sound of the archer’s low growl was impressive, prompting the Jotunn to lean in and capture Clint’s mouth in a slow, smoldering kiss.  

"Bleed me, will you," he murmured against his Hawk’s lips before nipping sharply.  "Perhaps I should return the favor?"

Clint uttered a hitching little moan, asking, “Please?  Use your teeth on me and mark me yours, Loki."

The corner of the god’s mouth twitched up into a pleased grin, and his lips skinned back to show the sharpness of his fangs.  "Are you certain that is what you want?  In this form I’m afraid the wounds may be a bit more…impressive."

The archer nodded mutely and tilted his head, offering the Jotunn the long line of his throat as the pulse beneath his skin thrummed double-time.  Clint knew it would hurt.  Hell, that was one reason he  _wanted_  it in the first place.  The pain of it just served to heighten the pleasure; to remind him of what he was committing himself to and of what carrying Loki’s mark truly  _meant_.  If he had to trade a little blood and pain for that, then so be it.  It was all worth it in the end.

Loki licked a heated stripe from just under the archer’s ear to the base of his throat before setting the points of his teeth against golden skin.  He voiced a pleased hum as he bit down, the taste of copper and sweat washing his roughened tongue and sending an electric shock down the god’s spine.

 

A strangled cry bled from between clenched teeth, and Clint’s fingers tightened in Loki’s hair as the pain washed through him.  It was tempered by the knowledge that he wore Loki’s claim now; this bite was only the first of many.  It would heal, and leave a scar, a constant reminder of just how much this creature wanted him.

He hissed at the rough scrape of Loki’s tongue against his skin, and he strained against the grip holding his arm down.  It suddenly wasn’t enough for Clint to take Loki into himself, to have his fangs and cock buried within him.  Clint wanted to surround his dark god in every way.  He released his grip in Loki’s hair and wrapped his arm around tensed shoulders, and when Loki pulled back in surprise, he wrenched free to do the same with the other.  He pulled Loki to him, against him,  _into_  him, as deep as he could go.

"This, Loki," he rumbled against his ear.  “This is what I wanted.  Just you.   _All_  of you.  As deep as you can go."  A broken moan found its way from his throat at the next deep thrust.

Loki’s fangs left his throat, then, and he pulled back to look down into his Hawk’s lust-hooded eyes.  It was clear from his gaze that he spoke the truth, or at least believed that he did.  Even as their bodies rutted shamelessly atop the sheets, Loki could feel the truth beating its way through Clint’s body with every thumping beat of his heart.

And still, Clint’s gaze remained locked onto Loki’s face, committing every flicker of emotion to memory.  He wanted to remember his god as he was now; feral and unrestrained, with that burning  _want_  held caged behind his eyes even now.

"I do not think you can withstand  _all_  I have to give, my Hawk," Loki ground out.  “It would destroy you."

Clint shot him a quick sharp grin.  He leaned up and rasped into his ear, “Do it.  Break me, Loki.  Please?"

The god’s hand came up to clasp the nape of his archer’s neck, holding him tight as Loki digested those six small words.  

He knew what  _he_  wanted; to allow the beast within to run riot and break his little Hawk down into a sobbing, drooling mess.  To  _bite_  and  _mark_  and  _fuck_  the man beneath him until he screamed for mercy.  To rut deep and hard until Clint spilled into the space between them, painting heated streaks of lust across both their skin.

And while his feral side demanded that he deliver just that, still his more rational side delayed.  

Yes, Clint had asked him for this treatment; practically  _begged_  to be taken apart.  He wanted Loki to give him  _everything_  he had to give, and hold nothing back.  And there was little the god would ever deny his archer.  

But this?  This gave him pause.  

Had this encounter not been preceded by strife and angry words?  And all spawned by the fear of losing his Hawk?  The cursed reminder of the man’s mortality hung over their heads every minute of every day, and Loki feared truly allowing his desires to run free. 

If something went awry; if he lost control and actually broke his archer?  The god would never be able to forgive himself.

"Tell me what you want, Clint," Loki groaned against the smaller man’s throat.  " _Precisely_  what you want, and I shall give it to you.  I would know your greatest desires…"

 

Clint’s next breath was nearly a fully-fledged sob of frustration.  He’d thought he had been more than clear already, with both his actions  _and_  his words.  It seemed that Loki would need more proof of his need than he had given already.

Instead, he huffed a breath against Loki’s throat before sinking his teeth into the toughened skin, bringing a sharp gasp from the god before a low rumble thrummed through his chest.  Clint could feel it in his bones — he could almost taste it, the way it shook him to his very core.  It only seemed to speed his already rapid pulse, until he could nearly taste his own blood as it pumped through him.

"I don’t want you holding back," he panted against the bruising flesh.  “You won’t do it because you think I can’t take it.  I can take a hell of a lot more than you think I can."

Loki’s grip on his nape tightened, until the tendons creaked and Clint’s eyes squeezed shut.  It hurt, yes, but something about the pain, something about feeling all of that strength just beneath the surface only made him want more.  This new, untamed side of his god was almost like a drug Clint was addicted to.  Before that first time, Clint had never known what it was like to be dominated; to be held down and taken, to  _want_  that…

"You know not what you invite by saying such things," Loki said, his voice betraying the strain of holding himself back.

"Maybe not," Clint murmured back, insolent as ever.  “Still want you to show me."

 

Loki studied his Hawk as he lay spread beneath him.  The tightly shut eyes, the drawn together brows; the way the archer’s body trembled and shook as he so simply stated what he wanted.  All these things spoke volumes on the truth of what Clint needed most.  

The god rolled his hips forward in a long, slow motion, prompting a gasp from the smaller man.  Steel blue eyes snapped open and locked with garnet as the archer whimpered, “Deeper?  Please, Loki?  I  _need_  you to spread me wide, pin me down and  _fuck_  me." 

With a feral snarl, Loki released Clint’s nape and hooked his forearms behind the sniper’s knees, pushing the mortal’s legs back and apart.  

"Like this, then," the Jotunn hissed as he gave a punishing, yet shallow thrust.  "You wish for me to stop holding back?  To take what I want, how I want it?"

"God…yes," Clint breathed, his fingers digging into Loki’s shoulders to steady himself.  "Use me up.  Please?  I  _need_  that…I need  _you_."

Loki snapped his hips forward, burying his full length deep in Clint’s trembling body and grinding harshly.  That growl returned as he slowly withdrew before repeating the action, holding his Hawk’s gaze all the while.  "Show me how much you need me," the god rumbled.  "I want to hear you  _moan_  for me, Clint.   _Scream_  for me as you break apart.  Take all that I have to give you…and  _come_  for me…"

 

Clint wanted to do all of that.  He had begged and sobbed and pleaded to do  _just_ that.  He would do whatever Loki wanted, however he wanted, for as  _long_  as he wanted.  He was finally getting exactly what he needed, if Loki wanted him to moan and scream and come, then he would damn well give him that and anything else he asked for.

With the next thrust, Clint lifted his hips from the bed, and the new angle brought a sharp, hitching gasp from his throat.  Loki sent a feral grin down into his widened eyes, his fangs peeking out, catching the light from the window in a way that make them seem to glitter.  It would have seemed menacing if he didn’t crave the sting of those fangs in his skin.  The sight called up an answering throb from the still-seeping wound in his throat.

"You did not lie, my Hawk," Loki murmured, watching with burning eyes as the sound of his voice caused a shudder to wrack the body below.  “Taking all I give and  _still_  yearning for more."

Clint could only nod and tighten his grip on Loki’s shoulders, straining to meet each motion with one of his own.  He watched as the light in Loki’s eyes slowly changed, as the beast was freed from its confines in small increments, until he was a creature mostly made of want and lust and need, until Clint was nothing more than its conquered prey.

And suddenly Loki was free.  

Nothing was held in reserve; not a single bit of his feral side remained penned behind Odin’s glamour, or restrained by the god’s own need to deny his very nature.

No.  This time, for perhaps the  _first_ time, Loki was precisely what he was born to be; nothing more and certainly nothing less.

A low, rumbling growl spilled from between skinned back lips and the Jotunn arched, and stretched, feeling the full measure of strength and heat coursing through his body.  Beneath him, surrounding him, the archer’s eyes widened before he whispered, “Yours," and offered his throat.

"Yes," Loki ground out even as his hips moved unchecked, pounding into his Hawk with bone bruising force.  "You are  _mine_ …in every way.  All that you are; mine.  And all that I am; every form I take; every face I wear;  _yours_."

Clint panted harshly, the friction of Loki’s motions inciting his arousal as much as the god’s words.  He wanted to sob, to babble, to scream until his voice gave out.  To finally… _finally_ …have Loki unfettered; to have him fully, without the god holding back even the smallest measure.  It was maddening and wonderful and terrifying.  

And Clint had never been happier.

Loki dropped his head and mouthed over the bite upon his Hawk’s throat. That long, roughened tongue snaked out, lapping clean the thin streamers of blood that still trickled from the fang marks, and the god purred out his pleasure.

"To be so very wanted; so accepted?  I have never known such joy," Loki marveled.  "To be given leave to break you down?  To be trusted to build you up again?  I cannot…"

Loki’s voice trailed away then, his tone gone tight and rough as he searched for the words to quantify all he felt.  When they refused to come he simply pulled Clint upright against him, settled back on his haunches, and buried his fangs in the archer’s shoulder while rolling his hips up and into the solid, pliant body.  The wail that tore from the mortal’s throat sent a shiver through the god, and he firmly set about bringing his Hawk to ruin.

 

Clint’s body locked up and his breath froze in his lungs before igniting into an all-consuming flame.  The sound that came from his throat couldn’t properly be called a cry, or a shout, or even a scream.  It was a guttural sound of fulfilled need, muffled against the side of Loki’s throat as the god rutted deep.  He clung to Loki’s shoulders, his legs wrapped around his hips, still straining to pull himself even closer, to draw Loki in even deeper.

The heat was building by the second, Clint could feel it deep in his belly, with every motion of their bodies, it seemed to grow until it was all he could feel.  That and the blinding pleasure of searing, hardened flesh moving within him.  Loki’s constant, rumbling growl pulsed through him, turning his entire body into one singing nerve that could feel only what Loki visited upon him.

When Clint came, it was sudden, sharp, and took him completely by surprise.  He tightened around Loki’s invading length almost hard enough to hurt, every muscle in his body clamping down until Loki finally stilled within him.  The god’s claret stare was locked onto his Hawk’s face, and it was clear that he was just as surprised as Clint. 

As the heat bloomed between them, Loki’s pleased growl rumbled through his chest once again.  It only drew out Clint’s release, until the sensations were on the verge of too much.  He shuddered and shook in Loki’s grip, his breath coming in hitching moans that were nearly sobs.

"And is this final proof, then?" Loki rumbled against Clint’s ear.  “Of how much you want me?  Shall I give you what you want, Clint?  My heat deep within you?"

Clint’s grip tightened on Loki’s shoulders and he pressed his face into the side of Loki’s neck, until his pulse was racing just below his lips.

"No," he gasped.  “Don’t stop.  I want you to use me.  You’re not done yet."

"True," Loki mused.  "I am  _far_  from finished.  And you have proven yourself greedy enough to take all I can offer and  _still_  want more.  It would be a shame to stop now…"  The god snapped his hips up, hissing slightly at the pulsing contractions of Clint’s body as he delved deeper.

"Don’t you dare," Clint moaned, grinding down to meet the Jotunn’s thrusts.  "Don’t you fucking  _dare_  stop.  Not yet.  Show me what you can  _really_  do in this form."

Loki gave an amused hum before licking over the seeping wound in his Hawk’s shoulder.  "As you wish," he purred.  "But remember; you were warned the first time as to my…appetite."

"And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that ever since," the archer huffed as he ground his forehead against Loki’s throat.

"Is that so?"

"I need this, Loki," Clint said quietly.  "I  _need_  to be fucked out; used up.  I need you to take everything I’m willing to give…and then, when I’m empty and spent?  I need you to take even more.  I want you to tear me down to the bare bones; fuck all the fear and pain and bad thoughts right out of my head.  Just…break me?   _Please_?"

Loki threaded his fingers through Clint’s hair and tugged the archer’s head back to search those familiar blue eyes.  The need that burned from within that stare was a palpable weight upon the god’s skin and he gave a curt nod in return.

"As you wish," he murmured, his tone rough with emotion.  If this was what Clint needed in order to regain his balance; if this was what he wanted, then Loki would give him  _exactly_  that.

The Jotunn’s hands slid to Clint’s hips and he lifted him from his lap, giving a slight growl at the sob the mortal voiced at the loss of friction.  He maneuvered his Hawk to his hands and knees, tracing trembling fingertips up Clint’s arched spine to tightly grip the nape of his neck.   Then he leaned his weight over the mortal, dark nails digging into soft flesh as he pinned the archer to the bed.  Loki’s free hand went to Clint’s hip, tugging him into position as he nudged the smaller man’s knees wide.

Clint whimpered out a soft, “Yes," and the god snarled at the complete submission of his Hawk.  Never had he been so compliant; so  _needy_.  And the fire in Loki’s belly was burning out of control at the very thought.

He pressed in close, sliding his length over the archer’s entrance with a teasing roll of his hips, and Clint sobbed brokenly.

"Please…- _fuck_ \- me," he whimpered. 

And with a low, rumbling growl, Loki surged forward and claimed his Hawk.

 

The first thrust knocked the breath from Clint’s lungs, and after that, it was a struggle to take anything like enough air.  All he could do was lie there, hands gripping the sheets, eyes clenched as his body rocked with Loki’s movements.  

Everything fell away under the steady assault of Loki’s cock within him, the hands pinning him to the mattress, the constant rumbling growl in Loki’s chest.  All thought was narrowed to one thing, and that was Loki, and what he was _made_  to feel, as nothing but an instrument for the god to use as he saw fit.  He could snap Clint’s neck like a twig, break him in half with barely a flick of his wrist.  The knowledge that he never would was the only clear thought in Clint’s head.

All of this, and the fact that he knew Loki wouldn’t stop until he was truly done with him — until everything Clint had to give had been taken and there was no more left — finally proved too much for his cracked mask to take.  It shattered, leaving him a panting, gasping mess on the sheets below.  Despite himself, despite every attempt to keep everything contained, there was no stopping what came next.

A broken sob escaped his throat, then another.  Between his clenched eyelids, a stray tear leaked out, to be soaked into the sheet beneath his cheek.  Loki’s attentions had broken Clint down completely, until he could do nothing but  _feel_.

The quiet, wrenching sobs that bled from Clint’s throat cut through the Jotunn’s haze of lust and ignited a war in his heart.  His more rational side demanded that he stop immediately; that he ensure all was well with his archer before they went any further.  But his feral side knew that that was  _not_  what Clint wanted, and it was definitely  _NOT_ what he needed.

His Hawk had maintained control for so very long; insisting on being the strong one; the stoic one.  And through it all he denied his own feelings; stuffing them down until the resulting pressure threatened to tear him apart.  Even when Loki urged him to allow his emotions to surface, fairly begging Clint to let them out, even then he had caged them away.

But now that that control had been wrested from him?  As he was pinned, helpless beneath his god, and submitting with ever fiber of his being?  

Now the dam had burst and the flood had begun.

Bending low over his Hawk, Loki tightened his grip on the nape of the archer’s neck even as he rasped his tongue over the shell of his ear.  He kept a steady rhythm to his hips as the angle shifted, and nipping harshly at Clint’s lobe, the god growled out his pleasure.

"This is what you wanted, was it not," Loki rumbled in that low baritone that vibrated against Clint’s back.  "Utter and complete submission?  To be  _taken_  and  _used_  and emptied out only to be  _filled_  again?"  The god ground his hips deep to punctuate his words before continuing.  "I’ve taken all you have to give, my Hawk.  Your longing, your release, and now even your tears…finally, your tears.  But do not think that will dissuade me.  I mean to possess you fully before I find my own end.  Do not doubt that."

Clint rolled his hips, writhing as much as Loki would allow, and still the tears slowly fell, and the whimpering sobs built in his chest.  "More…please," he groaned.  "Need…more."

Loki fairly purred at Clint’s continued hunger.  He thrust deep and hard, pausing to grind against the archer’s spot with each forward motion, teasing a frantic, shuddering cry from the man beneath him.

"Perhaps," Loki growled.  "I should make you come again, my little Hawk.  I don’t think you’re  _quite_  broken enough, and we’re nowhere near bottom, now are we?"

 

Clint ground his face into the mattress, shaking his head in a negative as he muffled his cries.  His body trembled, held up only by Loki’s hold on his hips.  He would have collapsed without the god to hold him up.

Each surging motion of Loki’s hips against him brought more friction to that secret spot within him, shooting spikes of pleasure through him that bordered on pain.  It was everything he never knew he needed, to be used and fucked and ruined so completely. 

Clint’s body begged for it to end, shuddered and shook and twitched his hips as if to draw Loki’s flesh from within him.  His mind and heart, on the other hand, never wanted it to stop.  He  _wanted_  to be used, he needed proof of Loki’s claim seared into his skin, branded into him until there was no removing it.

Clint had taken Loki countless times, in countless ways; deep and slow, hard and fast, everything in between.  Never once had he denied the god anything he wanted.  This was the only way for Clint to show him that he wanted the same; he needed Loki just as much as Loki needed him.  It was the first time he had been taken so thoroughly, forced still and mostly silent, being  _made_  to take every bit of Loki’s unrestrained lust.

The tears would have been embarrassing if he’d allowed himself to think on it for longer than it took to acknowledge the cold wetness beneath his cheek.  His pride had been obliterated by the assault, there wasn’t a single thought to spare for something so hindering as  _pride_.  His god was claiming him, nothing else mattered beyond that.

Then Loki’s voice cut through the haze, and Clint’s focus was back on point.

"I see now why you needed this so much, my Hawk," his voice thrummed against the shell of his ear.  “Why you beg and plead for more, even now, when I can feel your body straining beneath me.  Your limits were reached long before now.  Do you see what awaits you on the other side?"  Sharp teeth scraped against the skin of his neck, and Clint muffled another wail into the mattress.  “There is only more of this.  Of  _me_."

Clint turned his face to the side, gasping for breath, eyes cracked open just the slightest bit.  He stared across the bed to the wall, seeing, hearing, feeling nothing but Loki.  The dark curtain of his hair falling over one shoulder, the rumbling growl of his voice, the heat and weight and sharp, blinding pleasure of him moving within.

When he spoke, his voice was nothing but a gust of breath, nearly silent.  " _Just you, Loki."_

The god felt a measure of satisfaction in his Hawk’s admission.  He was needed just as much as he was wanted.  Only  _he_  could soothe the aching hunger Clint felt; a hunger he had been mostly unaware of until Loki had finally broken the archer; fully and completely.  And how strange was it that in order to accomplish such a thing, Loki simply had to allow his Jotunn nature to take hold; fully and completely.

It seemed that each needed the other to provide what they themselves were missing.  

"Yes," Loki rasped, his lips brushing over the steady beat of the archer’s pulse.  "Just me.  No thought in your head; no worry resting upon your shoulders.  Just me…above you; against you; within you."

And still the god continued to assail that small, secret spot hidden away so deeply.  As he rolled his hips into his Hawk again and again that rumbling growl grew, the vibrations inciting answering tremors in the man beneath him.

Relinquishing his hold on Clint’s hip, Loki slid his hand around to grasp the archer’s cock.  The sobbing moan that rose in response brought a pleased snarl from the Jotunn, and he thrilled to the feel of hot, heavy flesh firming in his grip.

"Will you come for me again, my little Hawk," Loki growled as he nipped sharply at Clint’s throat.  "Will you gift me with truly  _all_  that you have?  I am close to my end and I wish to have you tight around me as I spill deep in your belly; as I burn my mark within you where it can never be wiped away."

Clint bucked and writhed beneath the god’s assault.  Loki’s plunging cock, stroking fingers and nipping fangs all combined to leave him nearly breathless with lust.  He nodded frantically, gasping out, “Yes…just… _don’t stop_.  Don’t stop and I’ll give you _whatever_  you want, Loki."

 

He didn’t think it was possible for him to come again until the thought had been put into his head by Loki’s question.  He hadn’t even realized he was still hard until Loki touched him.  It had stopped being about Clint long ago; he was only now a willing instrument for the god’s lust.

Now, though… now he could feel something building within him, something that threatened to ruin him completely.

His words seemed to ignite something within Loki as well.  His movements grew more frantic, the grip on his nape tightened until he could feel the pressure behind his eyes.  Even had he wanted to stop, he was well and truly pinned; there was no stopping until Loki released him, and from the sounds he was making, it wouldn’t be much longer.  Clint’s submission seemed to be the catalyst that spurred Loki’s release.

"Whatever I want…" Loki growled in such a low tone it was more felt than heard.

Clint nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  His grip on the sheets tightened until they pulled away from the mattress, held tight in white-knuckled fists.

"It is as it has always been.  That is you, Clint.  All of you.  And that is what you have given me.  Every bit of you, to do with as I will." 

The hand wrapped around him tightened, and Clint’s body stilled, seizing in a rictus of pleasure that could have doubled as pain.

"Let go, my Hawk," Loki whispered into his ear, his breath washing hot over the sensitive shell.  “Come for me."

The god’s voice in his ear; the pleasure of his touch; the feel of being  _taken_  and _owned_  and  _ruined_ completely was so overwhelming as to drive Clint once more to breathless sobs.  The hot burn of the tears as they tracked down his cheeks was the final straw; the release of emotion prompting in turn his physical surrender.

“ _Yes_ ," the archer howled, his body tense and shaking.  "C-coming, Loki!  For you…- _always_ \- for you!"

The Jotunn licked a heated path between Clint’s shoulder-blades, tasting the sweat and lust and desperation that was pouring from his Hawk’s solid frame.  And as he twisted his palm over the head of Clint’s cock while grinding deep and hard against that sensitive patch of flesh hidden so deep within, the mortal shattered apart.

Clint’s orgasm crashed down over him, the force of it driving the breath from his lungs; the final dregs of worry from his mind.  His mouth opened in a soundless scream, and he convulsed under Loki, bucking and twisting in the Jotunn’s iron grip as the violence of his release swept through him.  

The god fucked him steadily through it all; lips skinned back from sharpened teeth and a low hiss on his tongue at the pressure and pulsing contractions around his length.  Releasing his hold on the archer’s cock, Loki brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean before pressing Clint down flat to the mattress.  

Twisting the pliant body beneath him, Loki bent down and captured his Hawk’s lips, murmuring against that panting mouth, “And now that you have given me all that you have; now that you are empty and aching, I shall fill you with my heat.  I will brand the truth of my love; of my never-ending  _hunger_  so deeply within you that it will never be washed away.  You will carry it with you always."

Clint scraped his teeth over the god’s lower lip before nipping harshly.  Loki snarled in response, and the archer shuddered in pleasure.  

"Please," he gasped.  "I  _need_  it.  Give it to me, Loki.   _Now_."

"As you wish, my greedy little Hawk," the god purred and rolled his hips once, twice, a third time…then held himself deep as he howled out his release.  

Clint swore bitterly, his face pressed tightly to Loki’s throat as the waves of wet heat washed through him.  The Jotunn twitched and shook as he emptied himself within the archer’s body, and Clint rocked back against him, milking Loki for every last drop.

 

Clint was equal parts relieved and dismayed that Loki was now finished with him.  His body couldn’t take much more abuse, no matter how much he might crave it.  There was a sneaking suspicion behind the veil of fulfilled need and the clearing haze of lust that Loki had still taken it easy on him.  He wasn’t sure if he should feel grateful or pout. 

In the end, it was probably for the best.  Clint would be feeling this for a long time after.  The bruises alone would take weeks to fade, to say nothing of the bite marks.  He felt something stir within him, wiggling happily at the thought of such blatant reminders of Loki’s claim on him.

The heavy weight of Loki’s body drew away from him then, and Clint took a deep, settling breath now that it wasn’t being fucked out of him.  He cracked his eyes open, only to see Loki staring down at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes and a furrowed brow.  Clint’s arm twitched with the desire to reach up and smooth that wrinkle from between his eyes, but his limbs were unresponsive for the time being.  Loki had well and truly broken him.

“‘S’at look for?" he murmured, his words slurring as though he was drunk.

Loki didn’t answer right away.  His eyes traveled over the wreckage of Clint’s body still twisted beneath him, covered in sweat and blood and come.  Clint watched his red eyes flicker, glittering like jewels in the dark, and felt a sudden, unexpected tightness in his throat.  He wanted nothing more than to own this dangerous creature, and in turn be owned  _by_  him.  He hadn’t realized quite how much he wanted that until this very moment.

Loki still hadn’t answered him, which was rarely a good sign.  Not now, now that Clint knew Loki’s silence often meant he was struggling with some kind of internal battle with himself.

It took more effort than it should have for Clint to lift his arm enough to clumsily push Loki’s hair back from his face.  Those crimson eyes snapped to his, then, and Clint  _still_  couldn’t read his expression.  His fingers tightened in Loki’s hair as he waited for him to speak.

"What is it," Clint asked softly as he searched Loki’s garnet gaze.  "Something’s wrong."

The god gave the slightest shake of his head as he brought his fingers up to press against his Hawk’s lips.  "No.  Nothing is  _wrong,_ " Loki murmured.  “I am slightly _concerned_  about the damage incurred from my attentions, but that is all."

"Right," Clint snorted, giving Loki a skeptical look.  "That’s not all.  When you get all quiet like this, it usually means something is on your mind."

Loki huffed out a small sigh before answering.  "There is  _always_  something on my mind, my Hawk.  The real question should be whether or not it is something you want to hear."

"Hey now," Clint chided.  "That’s not fair.  Just because I may not  _want_  to hear something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me anyway."

"Be that as it may,  _this_  particular worry of mine is one I promised I would not mention.  Not until  _you_  were ready to discuss it," Loki said pointedly.  "I mean to keep that promise, but I fear that sometimes you will be able to read the questions in my eyes."  He gave a rueful grin and then finished in a fond tone, “Damn your observant nature."

"Oh," the archer answered softly, holding the direct stare the Jotunn had leveled at him.  "Yeah.  I sort of figured it might be about that."

"What else could it be," Loki whispered.  "I fear the thought is somewhat overwhelming.  But I will hold true to my word.  You will have all the time you need to make a decision.  Without any interference from me.  This I swear."

 

Clint swallowed against the tightness in his throat at the pain in Loki’s eyes and words.  He felt torn.  On one hand, he wanted to put Loki’s fears to rest for good, it was killing him to see his god hurting like this.  On the other, Clint knew this wasn’t a decision he could make right away.  He couldn’t allow his feelings to cloud his judgement.  In the end, it was  _his_  life they were deciding on, and it was _his_  decision to make.  No matter how much Loki may wish for it, Clint couldn’t make him any promises right now.

"I get it," Clint said.  “And I promised  _you_  I would think about it.  And I will.  I just need some time is all."

"Yes," Loki murmured.  “As long as you need.  I have nothing but time, after all."

He knew it was meant as a joke, something to break the tension, but it only drove the spike of regret further into Clint’s chest.  The reminder that, if he decided not to take Loki’s offer, the god would be left with an eternity of loneliness without him.  Something within him whimpered at that thought and pushed him that much closer to wanting to throw all caution to the wind and simply give in.

There was a steel cord of stubbornness that kept the words behind his teeth, and all he allowed was a small, sad smile.

"Thanks for putting up with me," he said.

Loki gave an unamused huff and pressed his forehead to Clint’s.  “I do not ‘put up’ with you, my Hawk," he groused.  “You merely test my limits at times."

"Yeah, speaking of limits, I got another favor to ask."  At Loki’s questioning look, he went on, “Can you maybe get off me?  You’re heavy when you’re blue."

The rumbling chuckle Loki voiced at Clint’s request vibrated through the archer’s chest, and the god gave a rueful, sharp-toothed grin as he slowly pulled free from Clint’s body.  There was a hissing whimper from his Hawk at the severing of their connection, and Loki pressed a quick kiss to the smaller man’s temple as he settled carefully at his side.  

"Forgive me," Loki murmured.  "I tend to forget myself in moments such as these."

"S’ok," Clint answered, taking Loki’s hand and idly stroking the whorls and ridges that adorned the cerulean skin of his wrist and forearm.  "I kinda like it, actually.  When you pin me down, and just…take what you need?  That’s something I didn’t even know I  _wanted_  until you."

The god gave a pleased hum and pressed in closer to Clint’s side, nuzzling the archer’s throat and breathing deeply of his scent.  

Loki was slowly coming to accept his true form, and that was mostly Clint’s doing.  After all, how could he hate something which Clint so obviously loved?  And as he spent more time in his true form; actually  _experiencing_  rather than  _loathing_  what he was; he was discovering the benefits of being Jotunn.  

Like now.

With his face buried in Clint’s throat, Loki could smell more than the sweat and heat of their coupling.  He could detect the scent of worry and desperation and longing in his archer.  He could hear the steady beat of his heart; hear the blood thrumming just beneath the surface of Clint’s sun kissed skin.  As a Jotunn, Loki’s senses were so heightened that he could truly know every inch of the man beside him.

"It pleases me that I can give you what you need," Loki rumbled.  "That you want me in such a way?  I have no words to express how that makes me feel."

Clint laced his fingers through Loki’s and kissed the back of the god’s hand.  "I want you in  _every_  way, Loki.  Every single way I can have you.  You know that."

"I do," Loki returned slowly.  "But it still buoys my heart to hear it spoken aloud.  I shall never tire of those words.  Never."

"Well, then I’ll just have to say it a lot more often," Clint murmured.  

Turning onto his side to face the god, Clint tilted Loki’s head up to meet his gaze.  He stared into those glittering garnet eyes; so wide and oddly vulnerable, and as the moment stretched out Clint leaned in and brushed his lips against Loki’s in a gentle kiss.

"Try not to worry  _too_  much," he whispered against Loki’s mouth.  "Okay?  I know it’s hard, but I hate to think of you torturing yourself over this."

"I will do my best," Loki sighed and returned Clint’s kiss with a bit more fervor, nipping at the archer’s lower lip.

"That’s all I ask," Clint replied and drew the god into a tight embrace, carding the fingers of one hand through dark, silken hair.  "And as soon as I make a decision, we’ll talk.  Promise."

 


End file.
